The Meryton Murders

by Victoria Grossack

  Elizabeth’s anger with Lydia grew, as she thought of all the grief she had helped facilitate – and even in her own family! To her own sisters! But Elizabeth still had an important question to ask. “Do you have any idea where the money could be?”

  But Lydia did not, although she desperately wished that she did. She had only sent Elizabeth’s letter to Mrs. Younge, at that time known as Mrs. Smith. Even though she had met Henry Clarke, years ago, at Clarke’s library in Meryton, her personal acquaintance with him had been very slight. She knew nothing of his habits or his friends; she truly had no information to give. “Is that all, Lizzy? Because then I will take four pounds. You promised not to preach and not to scold, yet you did, so you can pay me twice what we agreed on.”

  Rather than dispute the matter, Elizabeth reached for her reticule and handed her youngest sister four pounds. Lydia pocketed the cash and then, completely unabashed, left the room, saying she wanted another peep at little Jenny, as she was starting her journey for Newcastle the following day.

  “You may come out,” called Elizabeth, when Lydia was gone.

  Mary and Kitty emerged from behind the screen in the corner. Mary complained that she was stiff, while Kitty coughed – she had been stifling the impulse with some difficulty during Elizabeth’s interview with Lydia. Elizabeth thanked them for listening; she had wanted witnesses to the conversation, and others in the family to hear what Lydia said.

  As the sisters helped themselves to tea and cake, they expressed their reactions to the conversation that they had overheard. Mary was grieved and shocked at Lydia’s callous behavior towards her own family. Kitty expressed the same sentiment, but then she fretfully added that she wished that someone would pay her four pounds to hold a conversation. Elizabeth decided that the right thing to do was to make both Mary and Kitty a present of five pounds each – they should receive more than Lydia, not less, given that they were not (as far as Elizabeth knew) profiting from by selling her letters to forgers. For this afternoon, at least, virtue would be rewarded more than vice.

  Mary and Kitty then also went up to be with Jane and the baby, while Elizabeth sat by herself and reflected. Where had Mr. Clarke hidden the money?

  CHAPTER L

  Jane, when she heard the gist of the conversation with Lydia – her role had been to keep Mrs. Bennet to herself while Elizabeth interrogated their youngest sister – was philosophical about the loss of capital. “We have each other, the baby is healthy, and if we cannot purchase a property at the moment, then we cannot. Most people are far less fortunate than we.”

  Mr. Bingley, however, was not so content; he wished to bring up his children on an estate that was his, and not where they resided as mere tenants. Moreover, he had received a letter offering Rushburn Manor for a reduced amount, but he still did not feel as if he could afford it. The offer would be open for a few weeks.

  Miss Bingley, the most anxious for a removal and aware that the days for negotiation were passing, sat down one morning with Elizabeth and addressed her: “You have proven yourself quite clever in this matter, Eliza. Do you have any idea where my brother’s money could be?”

  Elizabeth believed that Miss Bingley’s compliment was almost sincere, even if her reason for paying it was provoked by an ulterior motive. Elizabeth did not see how she could help, however. She had not really known Mr. Henry Clarke, barely to nod to, and everything associated with him had been searched without the money’s being found. Or, what was also possible, was that the money had been found – but the person who had discovered it was staying silent in order to keep the money for himself.

  Jane, when she heard this theory, said she did not believe it. “How could anyone in Meryton be so wicked as to take money from their neighbors?”

  “After all the murders in Meryton this summer, Jane, you do not believe someone here is capable of theft?” Miss Bingley retorted.

  Jane sighed and told Caroline that she might be right, but then the baby opened her eyes and the new mother was lost to further conversation.

  Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth, after the christening in which they became the godparents of little Jane Elizabeth Bingley, decided it was time for them to depart. Jane was healthy; the child adorable; and they themselves were only in the way. They wanted to return to Pemberley.

  The only frustration pertained to Rushburn Manor. “If I could only loan him the capital,” Mr. Darcy said to Elizabeth, but Bingley had refused him, just as he had refused assistance from Miss Bingley.

  After church on the Sunday before their planned departure, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy made a tour of the graveyard. They went first to the Longbourn plot and stood before the resting place of Elizabeth’s cousin, Mr. Collins. At that point they were joined by Mrs. Collins.

  “Eliza! Do you have a moment? I wish to speak with you.”

  Elizabeth said that they did.

  “First, I must tell you that Mrs. Jenkinson died last week.”

  Both Mr. and Mrs. Darcy expressed their sympathy, and Mr. Darcy said that he would send letters of condolence to his aunt and his cousin.

  “I will be taking Mrs. Jenkinson’s position, so I will be living at Rosings Park. Lewis and I leave for Hunsford tomorrow.”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Elizabeth. Mrs. Collins had a small competency; how could she bear to live with Lady Catherine when there was no need?

  Elizabeth did not ask her question aloud, but as if she could read her friend’s thoughts, Mrs. Collins answered it.

  “I know that Lady Catherine is not always the easiest of women, but I believe she will be good to Lewis and to me. She has promised to arrange a first-rate education for him, too.”

  If there were anyone who could deal with the autocratic demeanor of Lady Catherine with equanimity, that person was Charlotte Collins. Elizabeth then wondered if little Lewis Collins, who was already the heir to Longbourn House, could somehow end up as the heir to Rosings Park as well. Lady Catherine liked to have the distinction of rank preserved, which was a reason for it not to happen, but time and affection might have their effect. In the meantime both Mrs. Collins and her son would live in luxury, with every advantage, in chambers far more spacious and elegant than any of the crowded rooms at Lucas Lodge.

  Elizabeth collected herself sufficiently to say, “I am pleased to learn that she values you,” and Mr. Darcy added that he was glad his aunt had made such a sensible choice in her selection of a new companion for her daughter.

  Mrs. Collins had an additional disclosure. “Lady Catherine also communicated to me about Mr. Radclyff.”

  Both Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were intrigued, and asked Mrs. Collins to explain. It turned out that Mr. Radclyff had been a suitor of Lady Catherine’s when she was young (Elizabeth had to make an effort to imagine a young Lady Catherine). The forgery that she had received – a letter pretending to be from herself – was a letter to that man, claiming that he was the father of Miss Anne de Bourgh. The forgery had struck Lady Catherine in her Achilles’ heel – her love for her frail daughter was paramount; she would do anything for Anne, and she could not bear to have her composure disturbed, especially not when Mrs. Jenkinson was on her deathbed. With Sir Lewis de Bourgh and Mr. Radclyff both long dead, and her own words and handwriting apparently against her, Lady Catherine had not known how to prove that something had not happened more than two decades ago.

  “So that is why she came to Meryton with Mr. Collins,” said Elizabeth, now understanding her ladyship’s dreadful mood.

  “Yes. However, now that it has been proved that this rumor was based on forgeries and falsehoods, she has no qualms discussing it. And if the money is discovered, she wishes to have hers returned.”

  “I understand. But we do not know where it is, and we plan to depart for Pemberley on Tuesday,” said Mr. Darcy.

  “I recommend informing my uncle Philips of the amount,” suggested Elizabeth.

  “I will do that now, and then I must return to Lucas Lodge to take care of Lewis. I hope we will soon meet agai
n – perhaps even at Rosings Park.” Mrs. Collins shook hands with Elizabeth and then hastened away in search of Mr. Philips.

  “If your aunt will permit me to stay at Rosings Park,” Elizabeth said to her husband. “I would not wish for my presence to sully the great chimney-piece.”

  “Perhaps Mrs. Collins can soften Lady Catherine’s attitude towards you,” said Mr. Darcy.

  They moved to inspect the three newest graves on the north side of the church. Neither Mr. Darcy nor Elizabeth had much sympathy for Mr. Clarke or Mrs. Smith (the name under which Mrs. Younge had been buried), but they felt great pity for Miss Mary King, who had been driven to despair. “Poor Miss King,” Elizabeth said, as they studied the plain headstone. “I should have made an effort to become better acquainted with her when she was alive.”

  “She should have shown her betrothed the letter,” said Mr. Darcy. “If she had trusted him, she might be happily married by now, and her fortune intact.”

  “But I can imagine what happened,” said Elizabeth, and explained her theory to him. The initial demand might have been small enough that Miss King decided that it was more prudent to pay it than to risk her relationship with Mr. Selby. Then, after she had paid one time, the fact that she had paid at all made her guilt seem more certain, and so it was easy for Mr. Clarke to demand more.

  “She was trapped,” concluded Mr. Darcy.

  “Yes, and the more money she paid, the more culpable she would have appeared to Mr. Selby. But I do not think she took her own life.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because her banker wrote to my uncle, asking him to talk to her and to advise her. What if Mr. Henry Clarke saw that letter first? And delayed its reaching my uncle by a day or two? If my uncle Philips had been able to gain Miss King’s confidence, then she would have stopped paying. They might have even determined who was responsible for the extortion. So I believe that Mr. Clarke killed her, in order to stop her from consulting with Mr. Philips and starting an investigation.”

  “I think you are right, Elizabeth – Clarke was responsible. Poor Miss King!”

  Elizabeth turned to see young Mr. Jones approaching the grave of Mr. Clarke; when he noticed them, he hesitated; he only continued when Elizabeth called out his name.

  As they met, the young apothecary bowed stiffly. “Mrs. Darcy. Mr. Darcy.”

  “I am sorry for the loss of your friend,” said Elizabeth. “I know you cared about Mr. Clarke.”

  “Friend!” said Mr. Jones, and gave a short laugh devoid of humor. “I believed we were friends. But he was a friend to no one.”

  The bitterness in Mr. Jones’s voice showed how much he had been grieved by Mr. Clarke’s betrayals. Elizabeth wondered how much Mr. Bingley would suffer if Mr. Darcy were to use him so; from what she perceived, Mr. Jones’s affection for and dependence on Mr. Clarke had been even greater than what Bingley had ever felt for Darcy.

  “Mr. Jones, do you know what Mr. Clarke did with the money?” Mr. Darcy asked.

  Mr. Jones reddened. “Do you not think others have asked me that? Do you not think I have asked myself that many times? But I do not know, for I never knew that he had it. Henry’s rooms have been searched – the library – his haunts. But nothing has been found.”

  Elizabeth said, “I do not say that you knew him well, but you knew him better than any other person did – excepting, perhaps, Mrs. Smith, and she is dead. Is there nowhere else?”

  The young apothecary shifted from embarrassment to indignation. “If I knew, I would say – do you not understand? Everyone in Meryton is treating me as if I were culpable – as if I murdered people and ruined them financially. Even my father is furious with me. But I am not a criminal; I am only a fool, and that is how I will be known here for the rest of my life. I would leave the area if I could, but as I do not have Clarke’s money, I cannot afford to go anywhere!”

  This was more speech than Elizabeth had ever heard from young Mr. Jones in her entire life.

  “Time will lessen the effect,” said Mr. Darcy. “And many others were fooled and betrayed by Clarke. You are not as singular as you believe.”

  Mr. Jones shrugged; the movement remind Elizabeth of how Mr. Clarke and young Mr. Jones had come together out of the woods. “What about your fishing spot?” she asked. “The one you occasionally went to with Mr. Clarke? Could you show it to us?”

  Mr. Jones demurred and said he had never seen Mr. Clarke hide anything there. But Elizabeth persisted and young Mr. Jones was unable to deny this request to Mrs. Darcy, who had not only condescended to speak to him but who was actually addressing him in a civil manner.

  They made arrangements to go to the river. The coach transported Mr. and Mrs. Darcy and young Mr. Jones to the lane bordering the meadow with the horse chestnut tree; Elizabeth told Wilson to continue to Netherfield with Mr. Bingley and his sister and then to return to this place and to wait for them.

  “You wish to take a walk? Why not return to Netherfield and walk there?” asked Miss Bingley, who was puzzled by Elizabeth and Darcy’s plans, and especially by the inclusion of young Mr. Jones, whom she did not consider worthy of the Pemberley carriage.

  Mr. Bingley did not request an explanation. “I will tell Jane to expect you later.”

  The carriage drove away, and Mr. Jones led them across the field towards the edge of the river. “What is your idea?” inquired Mr. Darcy.

  “Mr. Clarke used that horse chestnut tree as a hiding place, but this meadow is frequented by many. To hide his treasure he would need a much more secret place.”

  “Somewhere outside? Then it could be found by anyone,” Mr. Darcy objected.

  “Clarke was here the day that he attempted to kill me. I believe that after my inquiries about the spare key to Mrs. Younge’s rooms he decided that he would soon be under suspicion and so he needed to leave Meryton. What if he was trying to collect the money before he departed? And then, after you rescued me, he could not return to collect the money?”

  “Clarke was not a fool; he would have put the money into a bank. Perhaps under a different name. Like Mrs. Younge, he may have been using aliases.”

  “He might not have trusted the bankers,” said Elizabeth. “But I agree it is not the only possibility. That is why I did not mention it to Bingley; I did not wish to raise false hopes. But if the other places have been searched and nothing has been found, looking here will not harm us.”

  Their task, however, soon became much more difficult. The meadow ended; the forest reached to the river’s edge; pushing their way through the trees and brush meant torn clothing and muddy shoes. Mr. Darcy revised his opinion about Clarke’s hiding place being found by anyone when the spot was so inaccessible, and Elizabeth, as a branch slapped her arm and thorns tore her bonnet, reconsidered her assertion of the search not causing any harm. She also wondered what had possessed her to attempt this in her Sunday finery.

  Just as Elizabeth was about to ask how much further they had to continue, Mr. Jones announced that they had reached the fishing spot favored by Mr. Clarke. It was not especially wonderful; there was only a slight decrease in the amount of brush, and a few large rocks on which one could sit, albeit not exactly in comfort.

  Mr. Darcy suggested that they search by each taking a different direction from the spot. None of them returned in the direction from whence they had come, as they could search as they returned. Mr. Jones pushed farther along the river’s edge and Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy both pushed their way into the woods. “What exactly are we seeking?” inquired Mr. Darcy, as he rubbed his gloved hands together to rid them of some dirt.

  “The hollow in the horse chestnut tree contained a wooden box,” Elizabeth explained, “but I do not know if Mr. Clarke used the same method here.”

  “If he hid anything here at all,” said Mr. Darcy.

  Elizabeth heard the reproach in his voice. He had some justification, for she had dragged him out in his Sunday finery as well. But as long as they were here she would do her utmost. S
he looked high; she looked low; she gazed up into trees and studied the trunks and leafy branches; she pushed aside stones and leaves with a large stick.

  Then she noticed something: not exactly tracks; the ground was too thickly covered with leaves for those, but she detected a few broken twigs on some bushes. Had they been snapped by an animal, by Mr. Clarke, or by some other creature or person completely unassociated with all of this? She noticed ivy growing on a tree; it hung loosely, however, and she pushed it aside.

  Behind the ivy curtain, and above her, beyond her reach, was a hollow; she called Mr. Darcy to join and to assist her. He did so, followed shortly by Mr. Jones.

  Mr. Darcy was tall enough to reach inside the hollow; he did so, and pulled out a plain brown cloth bag; Mr. Jones exclaimed with surprise. Mr. Darcy withdrew a wooden box out of the bag and handed it to his wife. “Congratulations, Elizabeth. You have found something.”

  “Oh! It is like the one that Mr. Clarke used in the horse chestnut tree,” Elizabeth exclaimed, turning it in her hands. She then added: “Although I do not believe it is the same one.” She tried to open the box but it was locked. She shook it gently; they could hear objects rattling within.

  “Let us take it back to Meryton,” said Mr. Darcy.

  CHAPTER LI

  Wilson had brought the Pemberley coach to the appointed spot, and without comment he drove his master, mistress and Mr. Jones back to town. Soon they were announced by the Philips’s footman.

  The drawing room was crowded, for Mrs. Philips had invited her sister and her family to drink tea with her and Mr. Philips after church. Hence Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, and Mary and Kitty were also present, as well as Mr. Morris, Mr. Philips’s remaining clerk. Mrs. Philips was still too awed by Mr. Darcy to remark on her niece’s untidy appearance, so she just welcomed them and told the servants to bring more tea and muffins. Mrs. Bennet, however, had no such inhibition. “Lizzy! What have you been doing? Your shoes and the hem of your skirt are dirtier than anything I have ever seen, and a twig is sticking out of your hair!”