by Emma Osborne
Elizabeth closed her book and rose from her chair to examine her dress closer. She had tumbled into the dirt with Jane, knocked out of the way of the wounded and terrified horse by an unseen benefactor. The thought that their savior could have been Mr. Darcy rankled her somewhat, but she had not seen anything except the approaching horse. She had not examined her dress after they had arrived home, she was too exhausted and overwrought by the events of the night to do anything more than shed her garments and fall into bed.
She pulled at the skirt of the dress, looking for tears in the delicate fabric. As she did, her eyes were drawn to a loop of thread that had been pulled from the embroidery. With a soft cry of dismay she pulled the fabric between her fingers to see what had happened and how bad the damage was, hoping it would be easily repaired. But what she saw was not a tear in the fabric; it was a stain, dirt perhaps, or something more? They had been in the stable yard after all…
With a gasp, Elizabeth dropped the fabric and stepped back. On the delicate white muslin of her dress was a stain that was a mixture of mud and blood. A footprint. Elizabeth’s heart pounded in her chest and she felt a chill settle over her shoulders as she realized what she was looking at.
The footprint of a large dog… a wolf… was unmistakably marked on her gown, and the pale, chilling eyes of Mr. Gerard Henry flashed across her mind’s eye.
* * *
Outside Elizabeth’s window, the moon was rising over Longbourn, and new shadows raced through the darkness. They ran on predatory feet and their eyes saw everything. Sharp teeth snapped and low growls became howls of mournful anger. At Netherfield Park, glasses of wine and whiskey were filled and refilled again as Mr. Bingley toasted the officers who had joined him in the hunt. Mr. Darcy glowered over the rim of his whiskey glass, and Miss Elizabeth Bennet shivered in her bedchamber and snuffed her candle with a shaking hand.
Chapter 10
As daylight broke over town and the streets began to fill with the business of the day, a shrill scream broke the early morning idyll. Members of the Meryton garrison on their way to join their fellows ran towards the sounds of distress where they found Mrs. Milbank, the wife of the baker, shrieking as though to raise the dead.
One of the officers led her away, but the poor woman was inconsolable, and for good reason. One of the officers fell to his knees, leaned against the side of the bakery and vomited the contents of his stomach upon the cobblestones.
The woman’s long dark hair was loose, and the tendrils spilled across the stones like black water. She was naked; her flesh was pale and cold in the early morning chill. There was dirt and blood under her nails and her arms curled protectively around her swelling stomach. She had bled profusely from a wound in her side, the edges of it were raw and angry and a tracery of dark veins spread across her ribs and up over her back. The woman’s knees were drawn up protectively, and her face, though smeared with blood, mud and dirt was beautiful. If not for the grievous wound in her torso, she could have been sleeping.
The officers did what they could to keep curious onlookers away until the doctor arrived, and the woman could be taken away to the garrison hospital. She was beyond saving, but no one had come forward to identify the body, but news of the discovery swept through the town.
* * *
At Netherfield Park, the scandal had reached Caroline Bingley’s ears, and much to the annoyance of her elder sister, she could not seem to leave the subject alone. In a char by the fire, Mr. Darcy snapped his newspaper and muttered something about leaving well enough alone.
“You may grumble all you like, Mr. Darcy. I am scandalized by this news and I demand to know more! Who was this woman? Where did she come from? How did she die? I have heard from the servants that she was found entirely naked! How shocking indeed. Did you know that she was pregnant as well? I cannot believe that no one has come forward!” Caroline’s voice was excited, and the morbid topic of her conversation unsettled Darcy even more than he already was.
“I had not heard that, surely it is an unseemly enough topic of conversation as it is. You needn’t make it worse.” Darcy was more than uncomfortable, but Caroline ignored his tone and huffed grandly.
“Perhaps she was a gypsy! My maid told me that she had very black hair and olive skin… surely she would be no one we would have known!” Caroline was far too interested in this subject, and Louisa did not seem enthused by her choice of conversation either. Mrs. Hurst stirred her tea angrily before setting down her spoon with a sharp click.
“That is quite enough, Caroline. As Mr. Darcy has said, this is unseemly conversation. The poor woman is dead, and I am sure that she would not thank us for your observations.” That should have been the end of it, and Darcy settled back in his chair as Caroline opened her mouth to protest.
“Darcy! I have just received a dispatch from Colonel Forster! The woman from town… she was shot!” Charles Bingley burst into the room, a piece of paper clutched in his fist. Louisa gasped audibly and Caroline’s hand flew to her mouth in shock. Charles’ look of chagrin was immediate.
“I do apologize, Louisa, Caroline. I did not know you were here. I thought Darcy was alone… this news is not for your ears.” Louisa’s eyes were wide with horror, but Caroline leaned forward eagerly.
“A gunshot wound? Really, Charles? This is a military matter then? Oh come now, you have just received a letter from Colonel Forster about this women, surely you can tell us more!” Caroline’s eyes shone with ghoulish interest and Darcy could not keep the revulsion from his voice.
“This hardly the time or the place for such a discussion.” He stood and dropped the newspaper onto the chair he had just vacated. Caroline protested, but Darcy ignored her and strode from the room with Charles following closely behind him. They made their way down the hallway towards the drawing room, far enough away from the parlor where the women sat that their conversation would not be overheard.
“I do not know what to make of this, Darcy.”
“Nothing. There is nothing to make of it. It is a tragedy to be sure, but not one that we should concern ourselves with. Colonel Forster was with us last night, and there was no one nearby that could have been wounded by our bullets.” He brought his fingers to the small wound on his cheek and Charles smiled ruefully.
“You are right, Darcy, of course. There was no one nearby, I am sure that Colonel Forster is merely writing to reassure us that we were not at fault. He does not recognize the woman, and there is no indication that her death is anything more than an accident. If Caroline is correct and she is indeed a gypsy, perhaps she was caught stealing crops and was shot at by a farmer. There must be an explanation.” Darcy nodded.
“Quite so, but none that would concern us.” He looked out the drawing room window towards the forest. Its lush green was inviting in the morning light, but Darcy shuddered as he looked at it. He had dreamed of the wolf’s attack last night, and he had not shaken the feeling of the great beast’s paws as they had pinned him to the forest floor, its pale eyes burning into his.
“Yes, Colonel Forster has confirmed it. Although I cannot imagine how he this will be contained. I expect he will make an announcement, a bulletin to quiet the townfolk. News travels fast in the country, but I am sure he will find an explanation.” Darcy nodded in agreement. There was no doubt in his mind that excuses would be made and a placating story delivered to all and sundry. What worried him was how long it would take for the truth to come out.
Whatever it might be.
to be continued in book 2:
A Cold Moon Over Netherfield
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