A Duel in Meryton

by Renata McMann

  Darcy eyed his so-called cousin with disdain. “Absolutely not.”

  “I can speak for myself, Darcy,” Lady Catherine snapped. She looked between him and Mr. Blackmore. Her expression softened. “I believe I see what is transpiring, Mr. Blackmore. Anne and Darcy do so look forward to his visit every spring. They rarely get to see one another. You and I, with our chatter and reminiscence, are interrupting their annual reunion, as it were. It’s a very important time for them. Darcy is settled in with managing Pemberley now. The moment to take a wife is upon him.”

  Darcy grimaced. He didn’t care one bit for his aunt’s interpretation of his dislike of Blackmore. It undermined years of trying to make Lady Catherine see that Anne was not meant to be his wife. He cared for his meek, sickly cousin, but not in the way Lady Catherine wished. Darcy could have looked past his personal feelings, except that, when he did take a wife, he required one able to provide an heir.

  Anne seemed to understand all this, and generally sided with Darcy when Lady Catherine pressed for their union. As far as Darcy knew, Anne harbored no amorous feelings for him. If anyone, she fancied Richard. He was the only person whose company she ever sought outside her mother’s orders.

  Though he disliked deception even in the form of inaction, Darcy held his tongue, and manfully ignored Richard’s amused expression. If not refuting Lady Catherine’s dreams for him and Anne proved the price of ridding Rosings of Blackmore, Darcy would pay. Silence filled the room. Darcy knew his aunt always took silence for agreement, not realizing that the only thing people agreed upon was they did not want to hear anything more about the issue.

  After watching Darcy for a long moment, Lady Catherine turned back to Blackmore. “Sad as it is for me, you must depart as scheduled, Mr. Blackmore. You would imagine Darcy and Anne would be kinder to me, but they are not. We must all bow to the needs of family.”

  Richard coughed, hiding his expression behind his napkin.

  Blackmore slid even lower in his chair, looking like unbaked bread. “Then I truly cannot muster the means by which to attend services. I am too weighed down by sorrow.”

  Lady Catherine stood from the table. “That is your choice, certainly. I wouldn’t wish you to come along, moping the whole way. To have someone who has entertained me so well foist misery on me is unacceptable. Come Darcy, Richard. We shall go enjoy Mr. Grigg’s sermon. While we can. I daresay he hasn’t many left in him.”

  Lady Catherine swept from the room. Darcy hastily downed the remainder of his coffee and stood to follow, Richard on his heels. Darcy nodded to Mrs. Jenkinson as he passed, ignoring Blackmore.

  Lady Catherine filled the carriage ride with a tirade about Mr. Blackmore’s ingratitude. She railed against him becoming disagreeable after not getting his way this one time. Darcy tried to ignore Richard’s amusement, aware his cousin felt Lady Catherine mimicked the behavior she decried. For Darcy, the ride passed more amicably than it ought, pleased as he was that Blackmore had finally squandered Lady Catherine’s good favor.

  When they reached the church and disembarked, Richard held Darcy back as he made to enter the line of people filing in. Darcy turned to his cousin, adopting a quizzical expression.

  “I don’t believe I trust Blackmore alone at Rosings with Anne,” Richard said, voice low.

  “She’s hardly alone,” Darcy countered. Much as he disliked the man, after the first few days of their visit, Blackmore had taken to ignoring Anne. Darcy suspected Blackmore’s main goal was to ensure future invitations to Rosings, to soak up Lady Catherine’s hospitality. He’d obviously concluded that showing an interest in Anne wouldn’t flatter Lady Catherine. It would displease her. “The servants are there, and Mrs. Jenkinson. Besides which, Anne has hardly left her rooms. Surely, she’s locked away there even now.”

  “I’m not certain she is,” Richard disagreed. “She was going to the library, but she began encountering Blackmore there. Two nights ago, he cornered her and started talking about love. She tried to discourage him, but he persisted. She ended up running from the room. She told me she doesn’t like being confined to her room, but she’s only safe in her father’s office, because no one can see her if she curls up in her father’s chair. I’m worried she may venture out. Mrs. Jenkinson might not even think to tell Anne that Blackmore remained behind.”

  Darcy stared at Richard. He’d no idea Blackmore had accosted Anne. “I thought Blackmore had decided to leave Anne alone.”

  “Perhaps in public, or when you’re nearby, but no, he doesn’t seem to have given up.” Richard looked past Darcy, in the direction of Rosings. “I’ve felt a growing unease the entire ride here. All my instincts tell me something is amiss.”

  Darcy looked over his shoulder, following Richard’s gaze. “Your instincts are rarely wrong.” He turned back, taking in the dwindling line of people entering the church. “You’d best take the carriage and go. God will forgive you for missing the Easter service.”

  Richard nodded. “I’ll send the carriage back.” He headed toward Lady Catherine’s conveyance.

  Darcy watched for a moment, then strode toward the church. Within, he found his aunt in her pew and sat down beside her. Mr. Grigg took his position before the assemblage.

  “Where is Richard?” Lady Catherine asked.

  “He’s gone back to Rosings to check on Anne.”

  “What?” She turned full to Darcy, not bothering to lower her voice. “If anyone should check on Anne, you should, Darcy, but there’s no need. She’s simply taken with one of her maladies. There’s nothing Richard can do for her.”

  “I believe he’s more concerned about the sanctity of her person than her health,” Darcy said in a low voice.

  “Her person? That’s nonsense,” Lady Catherine declared. “Call him back.”

  Darcy looked about. Everyone stared, even Mr. Grigg. They were already making a scene. “It probably is nonsense, but I trust Richard’s instincts. I think I’m going to help him.”

  Darcy stood. Several people gasped. More murmured.

  “Fitzwilliam Darcy,” Aunt Catherine ordered, “sit back down this moment.”

  Ignoring his aunt, Darcy offered Mr. Grigg an apologetic nod and headed back up the aisle. Wryly, Darcy reflected that at least following Richard would save him from a repeat of the same sermon Mr. Grigg gave every Easter. Despite Lady Catherine’s enthusiasm for the old clergyman, Darcy longed for the day he was replaced. It would be impossible for his aunt to find anyone more boring than Grigg.

  Richard and the carriage were already well away as Darcy exited the church. He looked about but saw no ready means of transport. Abandoning decorum in his growing unease, he set off across the lawn toward Rosings at a jog.

  He reached Rosings as Lady Catherine’s carriage rumbled back down the drive. Ignoring the confused look cast his way by footman and driver, Darcy took the front steps two at a time. As his foot crossed the threshold, a scream rent the air.

  Darcy pelted up the staircase toward Anne’s room. Another scream sounded. This time, his ears pinpointed it as coming from below. Darcy careened about, nearly falling, and raced back down the steps. A third scream drew him to the north wing of the house, and his uncle’s office.

  Blackmore had a firm grip on Anne’s arm. She was half behind him, struggling against his hold. Blackmore faced Richard, who stood halfway across the room from Blackmore with his hand on the back of a chair. Blackmore pushed Anne to the floor and dove toward Richard.

  It took Darcy only a moment to see the sword in Blackmore’s hand. Richard pulled the chair between them and stepped farther back. As Blackmore pushed the chair back under the table, Darcy grabbed a forearm-sized vase from a shelf near the door. He aimed for Blackmore’s face, but hit his shoulder. As the vase shattered, Darcy realized it was a valuable one from the orient.

  Not distracted by the flying shards of porcelain, Richard leapt across the room to pull the mate to Blackmore’s weapon from the wall, where the two normally hung, crossed. Ric
hard leapt back toward Blackmore. The swords met with a screech.

  As the blades clanked in earnest, Darcy looked about for a means to assist Richard. Anne crouched on the floor behind Blackmore, arms wrapped about her head. Darcy couldn’t attack Blackmore from the rear and the space between the table and the wall was too narrow for Darcy to come to Richard’s side.

  Sobbing, Anne pushed to her feet and stumbled backward, scuttling behind her father’s desk. Blackmore sidestepped, keeping his back to Anne. Darcy grabbed a random book with the intention of throwing it. Before the book could leave Darcy’s hand, Blackmore feinted left. Richard, not fooled, drove his blade into his opponent’s heart.

  Blackmore crumpled to the ground. Darcy went still, book held ready to throw. He tossed the volume aside. It thunked to the floor. Richard whirled, red-coated sword held at the ready. Darcy came to his cousin’s side and places a hand lightly on his shoulder. Blood seeped out from under Blackmore, where he lay on the floor.

  Another cry sounded from Anne’s direction, this one weak. From where she stood, Darcy suspected she could only see Blackmore’s feet. She collapsed slowly, the motion an alarming parody of Blackmore’s decent. Richard’s sword clattered to the floor as he jumped over Blackmore and raced around the desk. He caught Anne moments before her head collided with the wood planks. Darcy reached them an instant later.

  “Is she injured?” he asked.

  Richard carefully worked his arms under Anne and lifted her. He carried her around the desk, past Blackmore’s still form, and to one of the sofas. Gently, he set her down. He and Darcy both bent low to peer at Anne.

  “I don’t see any injuries,” Richard said after a moment.

  Darcy didn’t either, but he could see that Anne’s sleeve was torn nearly off. Richard pushed the fabric aside to reveal a red welt, likely the beginning of a bruise, on Anne’s arm. He and Darcy exchanged a grim look. As one, they turned and stalked over to Blackmore.

  Richard poked him with a foot. Blackmore’s form moved with the motion, then sank back into place when Richard pulled his foot back. Darcy knelt and checked to see if Blackmore was breathing. He wasn’t.

  “We’ll have to call the magistrate,” Richard said.

  “You won’t be charged.”

  “No, but we should still send for him.”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Lady Catherine’s voice rang through the manor. “Darcy, Richard, where are you? How dare you walk out on Mr. Grigg’s sermon?”

  Darcy grimaced. Wry humor sprang up in Richard’s eyes. Darcy realized their aunt had left the sermon early as well.

  “We’re in Sir Lewis’ office, Aunt Catherine,” Richard called, voice booming.

  Anne groaned. Darcy and Richard hurried back to her side. Richard went down on one knee to study her face.

  Lady Catherine burst into the room and stilled. “My fifteenth century imperial vase! How dare you…” She whirled toward Darcy, then saw her daughter. “Anne,” she gasped.

  Anne’s eyes flickered open. Her gaze settled on Richard. Her lips pulled up into a rare smile. “You saved me.”

  “Saved her?” Lady Catherine asked. She turned, slowly, to take in the room. “What happened here? Is that Mr. Blackmore?” Each question came out an octave higher. “Is that blood?”

  Anne sat up, Richard supporting her with one arm. “Mr. Blackmore tried to force his attentions on me, Mother. He said I would be made to marry him, and he would have Rosings. Richard saved me.”

  Lady Catherine swiveled to face Richard. “Is this true?”

  “I can’t speak to what he said before I found them,” Richard said, looking up at her from where he knelt, supporting Anne. “I can say that I returned to find Anne screaming, pinned in the corner by Blackmore.”

  Anne tried to look around. Darcy realized she couldn’t see past Richard. She didn’t know there was a body.

  “What happened to him?” Anne asked. “Did Mother say there is blood?”

  Darcy moved to stand beside Richard, further blocking Anne’s view. “Blackmore is dead.”

  “You slew him for Anne?” Lady Catherine asked, eyes alight.

  Darcy shook his head. “I would have been too late. Richard saved Anne. He wielded the blade.”

  “Thank you,” Anne whispered, looking up at Richard.

  Lady Catherine sniffed. “Well, you should have been the one to kill him, Darcy. I can’t imagine what kept you. Next time, try to be more like Richard.”

  Darcy kept his expression bland. “Certainly.”

  “He’s really dead?” Anne asked.

  Richard glanced at Darcy, who nodded, before turning back to Anne. “He really is,” Richard assured her.

  She hugged him. “Thank you.” She looked over his shoulder at her mother. “I would like to go to my room, please.”

  “I’ll take you.” Richard scooped her up. He carried her from the room, angling her in such a way as to conceal the body from her sight.

  “Well,” Lady Catherine said, looking about. She wrinkled her nose at the body. “I knew I didn’t like that man.”

  Darcy had nothing to say to that.

  “You should have been more useful, Darcy,” she continued. “You should be the one carrying Anne to her chamber.” She let out a sigh and looked about again. “Where is everyone? Where are the servants? Not all of them attended the service.”

  “A good question. I will find out.” He turned to leave the room.

  “And send someone to clean this up, Darcy,” Aunt Catherine called after him.

  Darcy found Rosings oddly silent. Every corridor he walked down proved empty. One of the back parlors held Mrs. Jenkinson asleep on a sofa, but shaking didn't wake her. Hurrying his steps, Darcy continued his search. Finally, he made his way to the kitchen.

  Servants, mostly members of the kitchen staff who couldn’t be spared to attend church, sprawled in chairs, or even lay on the floor. Several snored loudly. Cups were set out, some with dark liquid still inside. He picked one up and sniffed.

  Brandy, and another, odd smell. Most likely drugged. Darcy set the cup back down with a grimace.

  He heard a whimper, then another. He followed the sounds to a large cupboard. A wooden spoon was stuck through the handles, jammed in place by a rag. Darcy yanked it free and swung open the door.

  A kitchen maid sat inside, squeezed in with several pots, legs pulled tight against her. She saw Darcy and burst into tears. He proffered a hand. She clasped it and he pulled her out.

  “What happened?” he asked, gentling his tone.

  “That man came in and said they should all drink and I said no, but they all did,” she babbled, words spilling out. “And they started falling over and I screamed, and he shut me in the cupboard.” Her last word trailed off into another sob, then a hiccup.

  “You’re safe now,” Darcy said. “I need you to go to the church and get the other members of the staff, and the doctor, and the magistrate.”

  “R-right now?” she asked.

  Darcy nodded. “It’s important.”

  “Interrupt the sermon, sir?”

  “Yes. Tell them Mr. Darcy told you to. The servants may need a doctor and he should come quickly.”

  “Y-yes, sir.” She twisted her hands.

  “Go now, out the kitchen door.” He didn’t want the girl to somehow stumble on Sir Lewis’ office. Blackmore’s body would further traumatize her.

  She nodded and crossed the kitchen to let herself out. Darcy looked about, and grimaced. Blackmore had made quite the mess, and he wasn’t even alive to explain himself.

  Chapter Three

  More than three years later

  Darcy sat at Sir Lewis’ desk at Rosings, going over the books, though he’d been through them several times already. He sighed and turned back to the household accounts. Aside from one minor arithmetic error, the ledgers were in complete order. Darcy had done everything that he knew how to do. Until Richard came, there was little more to accomplish.

&
nbsp; The funerals were over. Darcy hadn’t been worried when Richard didn’t arrive in time for the first, but concern set in when, almost two weeks later, his cousin still hadn’t turned up. Darcy had sent letters to three different places he felt Richard might be, then to four people who might know where he was. Still, nothing.

  A wave of dread, inspired by the injuries Richard had suffered in Spain two years ago, lurked at the corners of thought. Darcy shook his head to dislodge the feeling. After what happened in Spain, the earl had seen Richard promoted to Colonel and then ensured he received less precarious assignments. Richard was a third son, true, but his father still valued him. When the earl died, almost a year ago, Darcy had wondered if Richard would push to return to the front lines, but he hadn’t.

  Darcy pushed back the chair. He detested being idle. Perhaps he would order his horse saddled and go for a ride, under the flimsy excuse that he was looking over the home farm and the tenants’ lands. As if he hadn’t already done so even more times than he’d gone over the books. He reached for the bell pull but, before he could ring for a servant, footsteps sounded in the hall.

  Dutton, Rosings’ butler, stepped through the open doorway. “Colonel Fitzwilliam, sir.”

  Relief surging through him, Darcy nodded to the butler, then turned his attention on his cousin. “Where have you been?”

  Richard rocked back slightly. He raised his eyebrows. “Mostly, on my way here. My general said I was required at Rosings with all urgency.” His expression clouded. “I heard about Anne.”

  Darcy gestured to the chair across from him as Dutton disappeared back down the hall.

  Richard strode into the room and took the indicated chair. Perhaps because he was in uniform, he held himself stiffly upright. He looked about. “Why are you in Uncle Lewis’ office? Is Lady Catherine out?”