by Jann Rowland
“It is clear that it is impossible for you to contemplate such a step at present,” said Fitzwilliam. “It is best that we remain watchful, stay together, and do not allow our killer to come upon any of us alone.”
“Agreed,” said Mr. Bennet. “But I reserve the right to do whatever necessary to protect my family.”
The gentlemen talked for a few more moments, but nothing more of substance was said. As they spoke, Darcy said little, instead watching Mr. Bennet, wondering at what he knew of the man. Darcy had always thought he was an indolent man. But if he was, that trait seemed to have fallen away, leaving him intent upon protecting his family. For that, Darcy could only applaud him. But was he truly foolhardy enough to try a three-mile journey on foot with six women? Surely they would be safe enough should they do as he had said: ensure they were never alone.
As Darcy was engaged in his ruminations, he was not paying attention to the conversation. As such, he was surprised when the others rose to depart. Fitzwilliam shook his head when he noticed Darcy’s sudden look of surprise, but he did not say anything. He simply followed Hurst and Bingley from the room, leaving Darcy in the company of Mr. Bennet.
“I am grateful the others have left with such alacrity,” said Mr. Bennet before Darcy could react. “I wished to speak with you for a moment before I return to my family.”
“Yes, Mr. Bennet?” asked Darcy, wondering what the man could have to say, in light of how he had already asked after Darcy’s intentions toward Elizabeth.
“It seems to me that my second daughter is becoming involved in this mystery, Mr. Darcy. I wish to know your role in encouraging her.”
“You believe I have encouraged her in this?” asked Darcy with surprise.
“Perhaps ‘encouraged’ is a strong word, given the situation. Let us say you have not ‘discouraged’ her.” Mr. Bennet chuckled. “I know my daughter, Mr. Darcy. I am aware of how headstrong she is, how she would find a puzzle of this nature irresistible, how she would wish to discover the truth of the matter for herself. I know you disappeared with her for some time a few days ago, and while I do not know what you were doing during the time you spent together, I suspect I know the answer. I have also been witness to the secretive conversations which have been passing between you. And I witnessed my daughter’s thirst for information last night myself.”
Darcy felt his eyebrows rise above the fringe of hair which hung over his forehead. “You know of Miss Elizabeth’s adventure last night?”
“She is not able to hide from me nearly so well as she believes,” replied Mr. Bennet with a chuckle. “Sleep had not found me when she rose and slipped from the room last night; the door between the two rooms was ajar, and I noticed movement in the adjacent room. I followed her down to the kitchens, partially to ensure her safety and partially because I wished to discover what she was doing. When she was finally persuaded to return, I again followed at a distance, entering my room once Elizabeth had lain down to sleep. I do not think she noticed me at all.”
“No, I would say she did not,” replied Darcy, a new measure of respect for this man’s abilities growing within him. “I apologize, Mr. Bennet. I knew of her late-night adventure, but I did not inform you of it.”
“There is no need to apologize,” replied Mr. Bennet with a wave of his hand. “Elizabeth was at fault, after all. What I wished to speak to you about was the amount of involvement Elizabeth has in this matter. As I said, I understand her intelligence and curiosity will drive her to attempt to solve the mystery, and I am certain it will be almost impossible to stop her. But I wish to ensure that you are not putting her to unnecessary risk should you find yourself together. We do not know what evil our tormentor has in store for us, and I would not have her caught in a situation in which she will find herself in mortal danger.”
“Nor do I,” Darcy was quick to say. “Miss Elizabeth’s safety is my paramount concern.”
“Thank you, Mr. Darcy. Please, if you cannot prevent her from putting herself in danger, inform me at once. She will not like it, but I will keep her near me and limit her movements if necessary. I would rather she be safe and resent me than in peril due to her headstrong nature.”
“I cannot agree more, sir,” said Darcy.
“Excellent!” Mr. Bennet paused, and Darcy felt his appraising eyes on his person. “I will declare, Mr. Darcy, that I believe you are well-matched with my daughter. Though I will be sorry to lose her to a man who lives in Derbyshire, I suspect she will be happy with you, should you choose to pursue her.”
“That is my intention, Mr. Bennet. I would like nothing more than to persuade your daughter that I require her presence in my life forever. If I can make her happy, I will be guaranteeing my happiness.”
“I dare say you will.” Mr. Bennet grinned. “But do not suppose she will follow your lead in everything, play the role of the obedient wife. She will challenge you, will disagree with you when she thinks she is correct.”
“Intellectual stimulation is one of the main reasons I find her irresistible, Mr. Bennet. I have had enough of simpering young ladies agreeing with everything I say for a lifetime.”
“Well, you will certainly not find that with my Lizzy! Now, if you will excuse me, I should like to reaffirm my family’s safety.”
“Of course,” replied Darcy. For his part, he was eager to confirm it himself, and if he could, to induce the Bennets to descend to the sitting-room before dinner. Perhaps the situation demanded a sober frame of mind, but Darcy thought taking their mind from recent events would do them all some good.
They departed from the room, making their way down the main hallway toward the entrance hall. As they walked, a few banal comments passed between them about matters of no great import. This man was far more interesting than Darcy had originally thought, and he was becoming certain that Mr. Bennet would make an excellent father-in-law.
They stepped from the hallway and into the larger entrance hall, and Darcy turned to Mr. Bennet to make an observation.
A shot rang out.
Chapter XX
THE CRACK OF THE pistol echoed in the entrance hall and was accompanied by a loud thud as the ball impacted the wall behind Darcy and Mr. Bennet. Both men instinctively ducked at the sound. Though the cover provided by the nearby stairs was dubious at best, both men hunkered down behind it. And that was when Darcy heard hurried footsteps fading in the distance.
“Wickham!” roared Darcy.
He set off in pursuit, calling for the servants as he ran. Two footmen appeared from a room to the side, and Darcy pointed imperiously at them.
“Search down this hall. I want Wickham brought to me at once!”
The footmen immediately set about their task. Darcy was not idle. He stalked down the halls, inspecting each room as he went. They were all empty of the scoundrel, though there were maids in certain areas of the house. But when questioned, they denied seeing anyone running through the halls.
By this time the entire staff had been alerted, and mayhem reigned. The butler showed his inexperience by scurrying this way and that himself, rather than directing his staff, but by this time Darcy knew they would not find Wickham in this part of the house. Somehow, he managed to escape the immediate vicinity. Then Fitzwilliam arrived.
“I am told someone shot a pistol.”
“It was Wickham,” growled Darcy. “It seems he has decided to take a direct method of eliminating me, rather than the underhanded means he has used thus far. True to form, however, he missed.”
“Far be it for me to contradict you, Mr. Darcy,” said Mr. Bennet, “but I did not see anyone before the shot was fired. The shooter may just as easily have been aiming at me.”
“That is nonsensical,” said Darcy. “The most likely culprit is Wickham, and he would not have been aiming at you, sir. Why would he do so?”
“I am afraid I have no answer for you. But this seems suspiciously like a leap to a conclusion when not all the facts are kno
wn.”
“What facts?” asked a new voice. Wickham sauntered into the room, his usual insouciance on display for all to see. Behind him, Bingley and Collins were following, expressions of intense interest on their countenances.
“Do not play stupid, Wickham,” spat Darcy. “I know it was you.”
“A great many things are me, Darcy. In this particular instance, I do not know of what you are accusing me. Perhaps you should be explicit.”
A low growl issued forth from Darcy’s mouth, and he stepped toward Wickham. Fitzwilliam, however, seeing his intent, stepped between them, holding Darcy back from the libertine. Wickham, for his part, never allowed his sneer to fade. He regarded Darcy, contempt etched in the lines on his face, his eyes as hard as agates.
“I know it was you, Wickham. I know you shot at me. I will have your hide for all you have done.”
“Someone shot at you?” Wickham snorted. “It is a great pity they missed. Your arrogance could use pricking.”
Fitzwilliam tensed and would not allow Darcy to attack Wickham and give him the beating he richly deserved. But he turned on Wickham and with a scowl which made the man pale, said: “I suggest you rein in your glib tongue, Wickham. It would take little to provoke me to allow my cousin to tear a few strips from your hide. I might even join him.”
Wickham sneered. “I know not who shot at you, Darcy. But I can assure you that if it had been me, you would be lying dead.”
A guttural growl of disdain informed Wickham of what Darcy thought of his assertion. “The fact that you missed strengthens my assertion it was you. You consider yourself an excellent marksman, but I well know you can only hit a stationary target. When the target is moving, you have not a hope of hitting it. You never were any good at hunting.”
A scowl replaced Wickham’s sneer, but he did not respond. Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy and at his tight nod, released him. Wickham turned to go, but Fitzwilliam’s voice arrested his departure.
“Not so fast, Wickham.” He focused on Mr. Collins and Bingley. “Were either of you with Wickham just now?”
“I am sorry, Fitzwilliam,” said Bingley with a shake of his head. “I had stepped out the side entrance to inspect the state of the grounds and the front drive. I only learned of this when I returned into the house.”
“And you, sir?” asked Fitzwilliam of Mr. Collins.
“I assure you, Colonel Fitzwilliam,” said Mr. Collins with a sniff of contempt for Wickham, “I have no desire to associate with this man. I was engaged in the act of speaking with God, attempting to determine the proper way to proceed, given the complexity of this situation. Our Lord cannot be pleased with us, and it is on my mind to call down judgment on the perpetrator, exposing him with the wrath of the almighty God for daring to raise his hand—”
“Were you with Wickham?” repeated Fitzwilliam. “I have no need of your rambling, Mr. Collins. I wish to know if you can exonerate this cur from firing at Darcy.”
Mr. Collins’s jaw tightened, and he glared at Fitzwilliam. But he did not refuse to speak, saying, a moment later: “No, Colonel, I cannot. As I said, I was alone.”
“Then we cannot prove that it was Wickham who fired the weapon.” Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy. “Then again, we cannot prove it was not any of them.”
“I would not fire at Darcy!” cried Bingley, at the same time as Collins said: “I am a servant of the Lord! I have fired no weapon!”
“I did not say either of you did it,” said Fitzwilliam mildly. “I merely said you could not be ruled out.” Fitzwilliam frowned and looked at Bingley. “Though I suppose Bennet was with Darcy at the time, and it could not have been him either.”
“Thank you for your faith, Colonel,” was Mr. Bennet’s sardonic reply.
“I think we should confine Wickham,” said Darcy.
“You may if you wish,” said Wickham. “I invite you to do it, Darcy, if you wish to prove a point. But I warn you if you do: you will be forced to exonerate me the next time something happens, knowing that I could not have done it.”
Darcy almost started at Wickham’s words. He had never known the man to be anything other than glib—Wickham had never shown any other face to Darcy since they were fifteen years of age, as Darcy had already learned of his friend’s true character by that time. A glance at Fitzwilliam showed that his cousin saw it too; Wickham was entirely sincere, though Darcy could readily acknowledge it may be nothing more than Wickham acting the innocent, as he was so proficient at doing.
“Well, Darcy,” said Bingley. “Shall I give the order to lock Wickham in the cellars?”
While Darcy watched him, Wickham continued to look at him, apparently quite serious for the first time Darcy could remember. Few had been the occasions in which Darcy had felt indecisive, but this was surely one of them.
“Perhaps, then,” said Wickham, “you should include me in whatever information you have about our killer. It is possible I might have seen something you have not.”
Then Wickham turned and sauntered away, unconcern written in his gait, his posture, his very being. Darcy swore to himself—even if the killer did not turn out to be Wickham, he was correct in pointing out that something occurring while Wickham was incarcerated would clear him if nothing else.
“If you will excuse me, gentlemen,” said Mr. Bennet with a bow. “I believe I should like to go check on my family. They have been alone long enough.”
With those words Mr. Bennet stepped away, leaving Darcy, Fitzwilliam, and Bingley standing together in the entrance hall. Bingley gave the signal, and the assembled footmen also dispersed, leaving the three men alone. When they had gone, Fitzwilliam turned to Darcy.
“What do you think? We can still have him taken by the footmen and locked away.”
With a scowl, Darcy turned away. “I almost thought he was telling the truth, which is notable, as it has been many years since I trusted anything coming out of his mouth to be anything but lies.”
“Agreed,” said Fitzwilliam with a snort.
“Then we watch him and remain vigilant,” said Bingley. “If he is lying, sooner or later he will make a mistake.”
They agreed and soon broke up. Darcy watched his cousin and his friend leave, thinking about what had happened. He was less certain than he had been earlier that Wickham was guilty, but the thought of what his former friend had become would not leave him. He feared that their next indication of something wrong would come soon and that they would regret not neutralizing Wickham when they had the chance.
“Mama! I am so bored! Can we not leave this room for a time?”
“I know, Liddy, my dear,” said Mrs. Bennet. “But your father has insisted we stay in this room together. I would not wish for something to happen to you because you disobeyed and put yourself within reach of that odious Mr. Darcy. I am sure he is behind everything! How I wish we could depart!”
As it felt like it was at least the hundredth time Mrs. Bennet had said something to the effect that she believed Mr. Darcy to be the source of their troubles, Elizabeth could not quite stifle a sigh. Her mother, unfortunately, did not miss it.”
“There is no need to sigh like that, Miss Lizzy,” said Mrs. Bennet. “Though he has become your favorite—and I am unable to fathom why you would favor such a dour man—I am certain in the end it will be proven that it is Mr. Darcy who will go to the gallows for the murders we have seen.”
“And why do you say that, Mama?” asked Elizabeth, a hint of an edge in her voice. “Why would you suspect Mr. Darcy in particular?”
“Because he is a violent sort of man. You did not see him with Mr. Wickham. I have never seen such brutality from a man in all my life, and to assault such an amiable man as Mr. Wickham! I do not trust him! You will all stay away from him!”
“Oh, Mama!” exclaimed Lydia. “I am sure Mr. Wickham got nothing more than he deserved!”
While Elizabeth was grateful her younger sister had taken her words concerning Mr. Wi
ckham to heart, Elizabeth could see that her mother was not in the mood to be scolded by her daughter. Mrs. Bennet had never been able to see past a man’s appearance to discover that which lay beneath.
“I am sure Mr. Darcy has portrayed himself in such a matter to you, Liddy. But I quite detest the man, and I am sure he is the reason for our woes.”
Elizabeth caught Lydia’s eye and shook her head, indicating that she should hold her tongue. Lydia did, but not without a huff of annoyance.
“I believe it is quite wrong to pronounce judgment on a man when we have no proof of wrongdoing,” said Mary in her usually pompous tone. “‘Judge not, that ye be not judged,’ saith the Lord. It is a commandment we would all be well served to obey.”
Her mother opened her mouth, no doubt to deliver a stinging retort, when the crack of a gun rent the air, the noise of it making it seem like it was quite nearby. The Bennet ladies instinctively flinched as one. Elizabeth soon realized there was no danger to them at present and went to the window to look out.
“Oh, Lizzy!” cried Mrs. Bennet. “Come away from the window! You make yourself a handsome target standing there in all that state.”
“There is no one outside that I can see,” said Elizabeth. But she moved away from the window as her mother had commanded, returning to her chair. When she sat again, she did not miss how Lydia, who had been sitting beside her, pushed herself until she was in close contact with Elizabeth.
“I am afraid, Lizzy,” said Lydia, her eyes wide, darting this way and that.
“I do not know what it was,” said Elizabeth. “But it does not seem to have been aimed at us.”
The Bennet ladies sat for some time, listening to any little sound which would announce the approach of danger, but nothing came. There was no sound—it was as if there was no one else within the house. But they were accompanied by the soft sound of her mother’s fearful sobs, and the way she mumbled: “God help us all! Whatever are we to do?”
It was perhaps fifteen minutes later when the door opened, startling them all. It was soon revealed to be their father, who stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He was immediately inundated with loudly spoken questions and demands to know what was happening.
