Murder at Netherfield

by Jann Rowland

  “One at a time!” exclaimed Mr. Bennet as his family all crowded around him. “If you will all return to your seats, I shall inform you of what I know.”

  Elizabeth and her sisters did as they were bid, albeit reluctantly, and Mr. Bennet joined them, though not without first pouring himself a finger of the port wine on the table. Elizabeth was amused to note that Lydia, with whom she had never been close, now insisted on staying close to Elizabeth’s side.

  “I assume you hear the gunshot?” said Mr. Bennet after he had gathered his thoughts. “Unfortunately, we do not know who fired it. But none of us are injured, though I was walking with Mr. Darcy at the time.

  “Mr. Darcy?” gasped Mrs. Bennet. “But . . . But . . . Why would someone be shooting at Mr. Darcy?”

  “Perhaps to kill him?” asked Mr. Bennet with an arch of his eyebrow. “After all, it seems that has been in vogue of late, has it not?”

  “Or maybe someone wished to stop him before he could kill another,” snapped Mrs. Bennet.

  “If we had any proof that Mr. Darcy had killed,” said Mr. Bennet with a pointed look at his wife, “we would have locked him away so he could not kill another. The notion that someone was trying to kill him before he kills is rather silly, do you not agree?”

  “So we still do not know,” said Elizabeth with a sigh.

  “Well,” said Mr. Bennet in a conversational tone, “Mr. Darcy is rather adamant in his belief that Mr. Wickham is the culprit.”

  Mrs. Bennet snorted. “Of course, that man would blame Mr. Wickham. It is my understanding that Mr. Wickham’s current state of poverty is at Mr. Darcy’s instigation. It seems he will stop at nothing to ensure Mr. Wickham’s life is ruined.”

  “It seems to me it is exactly the opposite,” replied Elizabeth. Lydia nodded vigorously in support.

  “You two may look on Mr. Darcy with admiration if you like,” said Mrs. Bennet. “When all is said and done, I hope we survive the man’s depredations.”

  “It is nonsensical to say such things, Mrs. Bennet,” said Mr. Bennet. “After all, Darcy was with me, and it seems whoever pulled the trigger was aiming at us. Unless you are somehow convinced that Mr. Darcy has the ability to be two places at once.”

  Mrs. Bennet had no answer for her husband’s words, and for once, she chose to remain silent. Mr. Bennet nodded and turned his attention back to them all.

  “I do not know who has been doing these things, girls. But I wish to keep all of you as safe as possible. Remember what I have told you—always stay with one of your sisters at the very least. We shall go down to dinner together—I believe it will be safe enough to do so. But I do not wish for any of you to be alone at any time.”

  “Yes, Papa,” they all chorused, to their father’s approval.

  The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same fashion as the morning. The Bennet sisters attempted to stay busy, but it was difficult, given their position in the family’s rooms. Elizabeth, of course, had her books with her, but it was difficult to read, with sisters’—and mother’s—continued complaints interrupting her. Kitty and Lydia tried to lead them through some games, and for a while, they were able to stave off the boredom by playing charades, and they even had a deck of cards delivered to them by the servants.

  But there was not a person among them who was not relieved to finally quit the room when the call for dinner arrived, even knowing the dangers which might await them. As one they made their way down to the sitting-room, and there Elizabeth noted the presence of all those who she had become accustomed to seeing. The only members of the party who were not present were Mrs. Hurst and Anne, not that Elizabeth had expected them to leave their rooms.

  However, on this day, the dynamic seemed to change a little. There were still suspicious looks aplenty between the company, Mr. Wickham stayed aloof, watching them all with dark amusement, and certain tensions between the members of the company. It seemed, however, that a certain one among them had decided to forgo what he likely thought was his understated wooing and turned quite blatant.

  “Cousin Elizabeth,” said Mr. Collins as soon as she had entered the room. He stepped toward her and bowed low, extending his arm for her to take. “How happy I am you—and your wonderful family, of course—have decided to attend us for dinner. I would be happy if you would sit with me before dinner so that we may become better acquainted.”

  “Remember what I told you, Collins,” said Mr. Bennet, softly, but with a significant look at his cousin.

  Whether she did not hear him or simply ignored him in her zeal to have one of her daughters married, Mrs. Bennet was not shy about pushing Elizabeth toward the loathsome parson. “Of course, you must go sit with Mr. Collins, Lizzy!” Then she lowered voice and spoke softly—meaning the entire room could hear every word: “Give all your attention to Mr. Collins, Lizzy. The more you encourage him, the more attentive he will be to you.”

  Elizabeth had no desire to be in the same county as Mr. Collins. But she knew there was little chance of escaping him, so she allowed him to lead her away to a settee, though she refused to take his arm. Mr. Collins seemed to accept this without any indication of offense. In fact, he beamed at her, as if she had just declared her undying love for him. The very thought made her want to gag.

  “How lovely this is!” said Mr. Collins as soon as they were seated. “I am sure I anticipate many more evenings spent in such a manner. I am happy to inform you that Lady Catherine, in her infinite wisdom and boundless understanding, was instrumental in ensuring the parsonage, which is my home, has received the best care and attention for which one could ask. Her ladyship suggested many of the improvements in my home, and I am certain you will be amazed by her thoughtful devotion to ensuring the comfort of my future wife.”

  Elizabeth gazed at the man in astonishment. “Mr. Collins,” said she, catching Mr. Darcy’s glare out of the corner of her eye, “I do not believe this is an appropriate subject. Your patroness has only been deceased these past few days, and there are members of her family present!”

  “I assure you that I am acquainted with all the customs, my dear Cousin.” The man waved her words away, ineffectual to the last. “In speaking of Mr. Darcy’s aunt in such a fashion, I am showing my respect and veneration for her. I am sure these fine gentlemen cannot be offended by the praise I so liberally bestow upon her.”

  “There you would be incorrect,” Colonel Fitzwilliam’s muttered words made their way to Elizabeth’s ears. For his part, Mr. Darcy continued to glare, though it did not do any good, as Mr. Collins was too caught up in what he was saying.

  And so he continued to speak, his mind moving from subject to subject without any thought, or seeming connection. While, as ever, Lady Catherine was foremost in his thoughts, he was focused primarily on assuring her of how charming she would find his home, and how fortunate she was to have gained his notice. Within moments, Elizabeth was desperate to escape, even if she must hit him over the head with a candlestick to do so.

  When they were called to dinner, she jumped up, eager to be out of his presence. It was fortunate, indeed, that while her predicament had amused her father, he was willing to bring about an end to her torment.

  “I shall escort Elizabeth to dinner, Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Bennet when Elizabeth directed a pleading look at him. “I believe you have had enough of her time.”

  “Of course, Cousin!” exclaimed Mr. Collins, though there was something in his manner which suggested annoyance. “How charming you are together! All your daughters are charming! I am quite enraptured!”

  “And we would all be grateful if you would keep your raptures to yourself,” muttered Elizabeth. Her father heard her comment and grinned, and Elizabeth heard a snort from behind which suggested someone else had also overheard. As for Mr. Collins, he continued to speak in his blathering tone. Elizabeth almost wished the man would propose so she could inform her of her unwillingness to become his wife.

  For the rest of the
evening, Elizabeth spent her time avoiding Mr. Collins. It was not difficult to do when they were at dinner, though much more difficult when they returned to the sitting-room. It was fortunate for Elizabeth’s sanity that they did not linger long.

  When Mr. Bennet rose and beckoned his daughters to depart, Elizabeth noted that Mr. Collins rose with alacrity to offer her his arm. But Mr. Darcy also rose, and he reached her first.

  “Miss Elizabeth, might I escort you above stairs? I believe it is time that I retired as well.”

  While Elizabeth noticed her father nodding at Mr. Darcy, she did not fail to recognize Mr. Collins’s scowl at Mr. Darcy. “I believe, Mr. Darcy,” said he in a frosty tone, “that the right of escorting my cousin belongs to me.”

  “Of course, I am happy to walk with you, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, accepting Mr. Darcy’s offered arm.

  Mr. Collins’s scowl deepened. But he was soon interrupted by her father, who was shooing Elizabeth’s sisters from the room, Mrs. Bennet leading them. Elizabeth also saw her mother’s pointed look at her, but she took great pleasure in ignoring.

  “I think it might be best, Collins,” said her father, as Elizabeth began to walk from the room with Mr. Darcy, “if you keep your distance from Elizabeth. She does not favor you, and as I have already told you, I have no interest in forcing any of my daughters to accept offers against their inclinations.”

  “But, Mr. Bennet!” exclaimed Mr. Collins.

  But her father was firm. “No, Mr. Collins. I have already informed you of my feelings. I will not speak on the subject again.”

  “I am glad your father is speaking with Mr. Collins,” said Mr. Darcy quietly. “I am afraid I have difficulty tolerating the man.”

  “You are not the focus of his attempts at wooing,” whispered Elizabeth back.

  “No, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy. “And I hope I never am.”

  Elizabeth could not help the giggle which escaped her lips. But then she remembered what had happened that afternoon, and she felt her mirth depart. “You are well, are you not, Mr. Darcy? You were not injured?”

  A shake of his head was Mr. Darcy’s response. “I was not injured. Fortunately, the shot missed.”

  “Do you have any notion of who might have done it?”

  “I still suspect Wickham. But I cannot be certain.”

  “I hope we discover it soon. This situation is wearing on us all.”

  Elizabeth was distracted at that moment by the departure of Mr. Collins. He was glaring at her, apparently injured that she had not accepted his offer to escort her. Her sisters had already departed with their mother, and only Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley were left, speaking together in soft tones. With Mr. Collins’s departure, Mr. Bennet returned to Elizabeth’s side.

  “If you wish to escort my daughter, I have no objection, sir,” said Mr. Bennet. “But I expect her returned to me quickly.”

  “Of course, sir. We shall make our way there directly.”

  Mr. Bennet nodded and exited through the door, leaving Elizabeth with Mr. Darcy. She was surprised that he had allowed it, but she supposed Mr. Darcy had gained his trust. Elizabeth felt a warmth well up within her at the thought—Mr. Darcy had her trust, too.

  Chapter XXI

  “DO YOU WISH TO go above stairs immediately, Miss Bennet?” asked Mr. Darcy.

  Interrupted from her contemplation of her father’s departure, Elizabeth turned and smiled at her companion. “Is that not what Papa instructed?”

  “I believe a few moments’ delay will not do any harm.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “I am certain it will not, sir, though my father might lose somewhat of the trust he has shown in you.”

  “We would not wish for that to happen, now, would we?”

  “We have not had the opportunity to speak today,” said Elizabeth. “Mr. Collins’s actions prevented it. Have you discovered anything more we did not already know?”

  “No,” replied Mr. Darcy with a grimace. “The situation is the same as it was before today’s events. I was with your father when the shot was taken—shortly before that, we were together with Bingley, Hurst, and Fitzwilliam.”

  “Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins were not there?” asked Elizabeth with a frown.

  “They were not.” Mr. Darcy paused and shrugged. “We were discussing the situation, including the state of the roads and the possibility of you and your family departing for Longbourn. I did not believe either Collins or Wickham would have much to add to that discussion.”

  Elizabeth nodded slowly, distracted again by her thoughts. “I can see where it would be beneficial for you to be as little in Mr. Wickham’s company as possible, and I cannot imagine Mr. Collins being of much use in any conversation of substance.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  Round and round Elizabeth’s thoughts went, but she could not make heads nor tails of what she was hearing. She knew Mr. Darcy suspected Mr. Wickham but was it possible that there was another explanation?”

  “How long after the other gentlemen left were you shot at?” asked Elizabeth.

  “As little as five minutes, perhaps,” replied Mr. Darcy.

  “Enough time for any of the gentlemen to have retrieved a weapon,” murmured Elizabeth. “To say nothing of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Collins, who were not even present. Or any of the women in residence.”

  “Are you offering yourself or your sisters as suspects?” asked Mr. Darcy, his countenance alight with amusement.

  “I believe I can account for my mother and sisters during that time,” replied Elizabeth. “Unless you suspect the Bennets of plotting together to slay everyone in residence.”

  “Have you a motive?”

  “Did you not know?” asked Elizabeth, fixing him with a saucy look. “We Bennets are known for our shifty behavior and utter lack of anything resembling morals.” Mr. Darcy guffawed, drawing the attention of Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley. But Elizabeth became serious again. “But Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Hurst were not accounted for at that time unless their maids or someone else could vouch for them.”

  “That is true,” replied Mr. Darcy. “But I do not suspect either. They were intimately connected to both Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley, and while both were unpleasant women, I have never witnessed anything but true affection from either for their relation.”

  “Perhaps. But we should not discount it. Given these facts, our pool of suspects has shrunk to Mr. Bingley, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst, Miss de Bourgh, Mr. Wickham, Mr. Collins, and Colonel Fitzwilliam.”

  “And many of those I would eliminate from the list just because of what I know of them.”

  “I understand, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth, filled with compassion for this man. All her family had been eliminated from suspicion, whereas his close friend and two of his relations were on the list. But just because Mr. Darcy knew those involved did not mean they were innocent.

  “I do not wish to cast aspersions, sir. But there are times when we do not know a person as well as we might have thought. Vices, evil tendencies, anger, hate, or rage—these can all be hidden if the one hiding them possesses enough control. Mr. Wickham might have fooled me, for example, had the circumstances between you and I been different.”

  The gaze Mr. Darcy bestowed on Elizabeth caused a shiver to run up her spine. “I find it difficult to believe that Miss Elizabeth. You are among the most intelligent, discerning young ladies of my acquaintance. At the top of that list, actually. Even had you despised me, I do not believe Wickham could have deceived you for more than five minutes.”

  “We shall never know. Regardless, the situation is what it is. I do not know what to think. I only know that we should not eliminate anyone of whom we are not certain, regardless of our fondness for them.”

  “Agreed.”

  Silence fell between them, but for the low murmur of Mr. Hurst and Mr. Bingley’s continued conversation. The thoughts continued to flow through Elizabeth’s mind, but she could not o
rganize them no matter how hard she tried. Of one thing Elizabeth was becoming certain: there was something they were missing. She did not know what it was, but she wondered if it would unravel the entire mystery.

  A moment later, Elizabeth put aside her ruminations and looked back up at her companion again. Mr. Darcy was watching her, and his expression informed her it was with more than mere interest. Elizabeth felt a warmth seep through her, like the feeling of a hot bath on a cold winter night, or the glow of the sun’s rays on her upturned face. How was this man able to evoke such exquisite feelings in her? And how had it all come about, considering her ambivalent opinion of him only a few days prior?

  “I enjoy watching you think, Miss Elizabeth,” said he, his voice soft, the depth of it speaking to his well of emotion. “I can almost see the greatness of your thoughts passing through the open windows of your eyes. They are made all that much finer and more beautiful by your intelligence and insight. What man could possibly resist you?”

  Hearing such a man speak such exquisite words about her caused the breath to still in Elizabeth’s body. She ducked her head, unaccustomed to the shyness which had come over her, knowing her cheeks were likely redder than the rosebushes at Longbourn.

  “I am not a man given to flowery speeches or poetic gestures, Miss Elizabeth. But I speak from the heart. I have never been intrigued, captivated, and lost all at once, and it is all due to your incandescence.

  “I have . . .” He paused and considered his words. “It seems to me that you are not averse to my presence. Dare I hope that is so?”

  “You may,” replied Elizabeth softly. Then she forced her head up to meet his gaze and shot him a grin. “I think, however, you may be mistaken about not being a poet, sir. It seems to me your words were lyrical, indeed.”

  “Then, Miss Elizabeth,” said Mr. Darcy, reaching down and cradling one of her hands in his, “might I request the honor and privilege of calling on you when you are finally able to leave this place?”