by Jann Rowland
“Oh, I assure you, it will.”
“Do you not think it will be suspicious if my father suddenly dies? Especially given the events of the past few days?”
Mr. Collins laughed, a cruel, harsh sound which grated on Elizabeth’s ears. “Who would suspect me?” asked Mr. Collins rhetorically. “I am the lowly parson, the toadying twit who cannot speak without praising those of a higher sphere. I assure you, Cousin Elizabeth, that once I have closed the door to the passage, no one will ever suspect me. Of course, you will predecease your father. I am certain I can make it appear to be an accident.”
“I doubt it,” replied Elizabeth, a fierce will to fight and live welling up within her. “Do you think I shall make it easy for you?”
“It matters not what you do, Cousin. I am far larger and stronger. I shall do what I must.”
When he began to move toward her, Elizabeth ducked to the side, putting a sofa between her and Mr. Collins. He laughed at her efforts to elude him but Elizabeth, still thinking of the open door, grasped at anything to stall him for a few more precious moments.
“I must own that I am shocked to learn that you killed Lady Catherine.” Elizabeth smiled thinly at him. “The way you venerated and praised her to the heavens, I would have thought you incapable of it.”
A shadow crossed Mr. Collins’s face. “Lady Catherine was not mean to die,” was his short reply.
“They why did you kill her?”
“It was supposed to be my cousin. I heard him arguing with Lady Catherine, laying claim to the room he and his ridiculous wife were using. Naturally, I assumed that she would carry her point as she always does.”
“So you killed her, thinking that she was my father?” asked Elizabeth, incredulous hilarity in her tone catching his attention. “You did not even think to confirm who your target was? And did you not see the difference between a lady and a gentleman when she lay sleeping before you?”
“The room was dark!” said Mr. Collins, his tone defensive.
“In other words, no,” replied Elizabeth in a scornful tone. “Can I assume that Miss Bingley and the butler were also a case of you missing your mark?”
“The butler looked like your father from behind in the dark,” said Mr. Collins. “And how was I to know that Miss Bingley drank a man’s drink?”
“Again, you assumed,” replied Elizabeth, fixing the man with a glare of disdain. “Had you murdered my father, you would have brought sorrow on his family, but at least it would have spared the rest of the company. Can I assume Mr. Wickham was also an error?”
“No,” was Mr. Collins’s short reply. “The man had the temerity to attempt to extort money from me in exchange for his silence. He soon learned that I am not to be trifled with.”
“Oh, indeed you are,” replied Elizabeth. She glared at him with no little contempt. “You must be the most inept marksman in the history of the world, sir. You caught Mr. Wickham because he was overconfident, and I can only assume that was your failing as well. Even now you have killed four, and yet your true mark is still alive and well.”
Mr. Collins’s eyes glittered with anger and hate. But when he spoke, it was with the same conversational tone he had used to this point.
“It truly is a shame, Elizabeth. I had intended you to be my wife when I become the master of Longbourn.”
“And you think I would marry the man who murdered my beloved father?”
“You would never know. You would have lived your life in ignorance and been happy.”
“I could never be happy with you,’ spat Elizabeth. “Even if you were not a murderer, you are a disgusting, loathsome man. I had not known you for five minutes before I knew I would die rather than marry you.”
“Then you shall have your wish.” Mr. Collins grinned. “I shall take your eldest sister to wife. She is much more beautiful and compliant than you.”
“She will marry Mr. Bingley.”
“Oh, I think not. If the gentleman persists, why, I may deal with him too.”
“You disgusting worm!”
In a flash, Mr. Collins lunged for her, and Elizabeth slipped nimbly to the side. He overturned with the sofa, going over it in a heap, but for a man as large as he, he proved to be agile, as he immediately shot to his feet. Elizabeth was already moving, past the open door and around the chair toward the fireplace with Mr. Collins almost on her heels.
Desperate for something with which to defend herself, Elizabeth spied the fireplace poker in its stand, and she grasped the handle as she felt the tug on her dress. The tug became a hard heave. Elizabeth stumbled. With the poker in hand, Elizabeth turned and with a cry brought it down with all the strength she could muster.
It was the sound of voices which drew Darcy up short. The stifled oath from his companion as he attempted to avoid him drew Darcy’s attention, and he held up a hand for silence.
“What is it?”
“There are voices in the library,” said Darcy, whispering.
They crept forward, careful to avoid making any sound. As they came closer, Darcy could hear the high tones of a woman, and the voice deeper of a man, but he was still unable to make out who it was.
Then the sound of a crash of falling furniture reached Darcy’s ears, with the tapping of light feet fleeing in panic. With a roar, Darcy surged forward, darting the rest of the way down the corridor, Fitzwilliam on his heels. He gained the door and dashed into the room, just in time to see a man clutch at Miss Elizabeth’s nightgown. She screamed in defiance and brought a fireplace poker down on his head. Mr. Collins dropped to the floor and lay still.
“Miss Elizabeth!” exclaimed Darcy, dashing forward.
Her wild eyes rose and met his, and she raised the poker in a defensive gesture. And then she seemed to realize who he was, and she slumped, the poker falling from her limp hand. Darcy reached out and caught her as she was sinking to the floor, cradling her to his breast. She sobbed once, twice, and then let out a shuddering breath before falling quiet. It was highly improper for her to be in his arms like she was, but she did not protest. Darcy never wished to let go.
The sound of movement nearby caught Darcy’s attention, and he looked up, pulling Miss Elizabeth to the side, a more protective position. But Mr. Collins had not moved—it was Fitzwilliam.
“It seems you are seeing to Miss Elizabeth’s comfort,” said Fitzwilliam, his wry tone understated, given the events of the past few moments. “Watch him. I will return with the butler, a couple of lads, and some good, stout rope.”
Darcy replied with a curt nod. Then Fitzwilliam departed, leaving Darcy watching Mr. Collins while supporting the precious bundle on his lap. Within a few moments, Miss Elizabeth began to stir, and she pulled away from him, looking into his eyes.
“You were exploring the passages?” asked she.
“Yes,” replied Darcy. “Fitzwilliam suspected their existence, given Wickham’s death. We found them not more than fifteen minutes ago. How did you learn of them?”
“I came across the room only a few moments after you left. I had gone to the kitchens to speak with the housekeeper?”
“Late at night and alone?” asked Darcy, his tone chiding. “Did you not quench your thirst for adventure the last time you attempted such a thing?”
Though her cheeks bloomed, Miss Elizabeth was not intimidated. “Perhaps you are correct. But I learned that not only had my father also requested spirits to be delivered to his room the night Miss Bingley was poisoned, but he had argued with Lady Catherine over her demand he give up his room to her.”
Those were facts Darcy had not known. He was impressed that this woman had managed to piece so much of the mystery together.
“We found steps in the passageways,” replied he. “Most could be seen leading to and from Mr. Collins’s room. In particular, he attempted to get into your father’s room from the passage but was unable because the door was stuck.”
Miss Elizabeth shuddered. “Then my
father survived by the purest chance, and others have suffered in our stead.” She turned her eyes to where the form of Mr. Collins was still prone on the floor. “He confessed to it all.”
“How so?” asked Darcy.
With a sigh, Darcy listened as Miss Elizabeth recounted her conversation with Mr. Collins, and Darcy marveled over again. This woman was fashioned with uncommon mettle. Not only had she kept the man who was intent on killing her speaking to learn his secrets, but she had successfully defended herself when the man had made the attempt. What a marvelous woman she was!
“He shall never harm another, Miss Elizabeth,” said Darcy. “You have discovered the secret and have rendered a horrible man helpless to avoid meeting his destiny. Do not concern yourself with your father’s fortunate survival for he is safe. I am glad of it.”
They heard the sound of others approaching. Seeming to realize the compromising position they were in, Miss Elizabeth stood and straightened her nightgown. Darcy also rose, though feeling bereft of her presence. Fitzwilliam entered the room, followed by the butler and two large footmen. In a trice, they had Mr. Collins bound hand and foot, and Fitzwilliam deposited him, none too gently, into the chair which had been found by the body of the unfortunate Wickham.
“Now,” said Fitzwilliam, glaring at a moaning Mr. Collins. “Perhaps we shall obtain some answers.”
Chapter XXV
THE SITUATION AT NETHERFIELD Park improved the following morning, though it could not be said that all was well. The terror of the previous days could not be undone, even with the capture of the murderer who had taken so many of them. But the mood was not quite so oppressive, a matter which was reflected in the weather. Though the clouds still hung low and sullen over the estate, the constant rain and snow had ceased, and the air held a hint of warmth in it which had been absent since several days before the ball.
The ball was a time which, it seemed to those in residence, had been a lifetime before! It was the last truly happy time many of them could remember. There were some among their number who were more resilient, having discovered thoughts and feelings which would blossom over the coming months and years. Still, there was not one among them who had not lost one of their number. Even the Bennets, who had emerged unscathed in their immediate family, understood they were to lose Mr. Collins. And while he was now roundly despised and had not been known to them before his coming in the days before the ball, he was still, in some undefinable way, family. His days were numbered on the face of the land.
Elizabeth felt so very tired, and it was not all due to having been awake most of the night. Mr. Darcy had personally delivered her to her family’s rooms early that morning before he and Colonel Fitzwilliam interrogated Mr. Collins, and her father had not been happy to see her. Or perhaps it was correct he was grateful she had returned to him, while his annoyance for her disobedience and the danger in which she had put herself was made known to her without a hint of a doubt.
“It seems I might have been remiss in my indulgence of you, Lizzy,” said he, as he pushed her away from his embrace, his eyes suspiciously bright. Mr. Darcy had already gone, and Mr. Bennet, in his realization she had been at great risk, had crushed her to his breast, leaving her feeling cherished and bruised at the same time.
“You have always been the most intelligent and the most level-headed of my daughters, Lizzy. But in this instance, I must wonder at your impetuosity.”
“I am sorry, Papa,” replied Elizabeth. “It appears I have been headstrong.”
Mr. Bennet’s raised eyebrow told Elizabeth exactly what he thought of her admission, and it prompted her to laugh. Soon, her father joined her, though his laughter was tinged with a hint of hysteria.
“Please, Elizabeth,” said Mr. Bennet after their emotion had run its course, “exercise better judgment in the future. My old heart is not prepared to be shocked like I was when you returned.”
“I promise, I shall,” replied Elizabeth, favoring him with a wan smile. “Should I ever have occasion to be trapped in a house with a murderer, I shall lock the door and refuse to show myself.”
Mr. Bennet barked a laugh. “I am happy to hear it, Lizzy.”
So saying, Mr. Bennet led her back into the room where her mother and sisters were still sleeping and saw her settled on her cot. Then he returned to his bed for the remainder of the night. Quiet reigned over them once again. But while Elizabeth was in her bed, it did not follow that she spent a restful night. The attack she had fought off still preyed on her mind, and she knew it would continue to haunt her dreams, to say nothing of the horror of the experiences they had all endured. Indeed, it would be many months before the scars were healed enough for any of them to return to themselves.
The following morning, Mr. Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam roused them all from their rooms, promising they were safe and requested their attendance in the sitting-room to explain what they had found. It turned out it was little less than a demand, for even Miss de Bourgh and Mrs. Hurst, both of whom had not emerged from their chambers in days, were persuaded to join them. It was the first time they had all been together since Lady Catherine had been taken from them.
As she sat in that room with the rest of the company, Elizabeth attempted to assess the mood of those around her. They were all solemn, even her youngest sisters being affected by all that had happened. Miss de Bourgh was contemplative, Mrs. Hurst dull and uncaring, Mrs. Bennet relieved, and the gentlemen a mix of relieved and angry.
“You have discovered who is behind these events?” asked Mr. Hurst when they were all present.
Mrs. Hurst, who had seemed unaware of what was happening around her, looked up at the two gentlemen, the light of zeal in her eyes. “You have? Tell me at once!”
“Louisa,” said Mr. Hurst, his tone soothing, “let us listen to them, shall we?”
“Tell me at once!” demanded Louisa. “Where is he?”
“I will not allow you to see him, Louisa,” said Mr. Hurst. Her unwilling eyes found her husband, and he locked his gaze with hers. “Put aside this need for vengeance. I understand you were close to your sister, but revenge will not bring her back to you. I will not allow you to become the same as the one who took her from you.”
While Mrs. Hurst glared at her husband for several moments, soon she wilted, and tears began streaming from her eyes. She sagged against him, and he drew her close, offering comfort and support. Then he looked up at Mr. Darcy and nodded, a clear indication that he should proceed. Elizabeth, who had never seen the man appear anything other than dull and uncaring, looked at him through new eyes. She had never held any great opinion of Mrs. Hurst, but she was suffering, and Elizabeth was happy she had her husband’s support to help her through what must be a difficult time.
There was little to do but inform them of the situation, which Mr. Darcy did without hesitation. “Last night, Fitzwilliam and I discovered through various means that it is Mr. Collins who has been preying on us.” Elizabeth noted his slight nod to her father and knew they had agreed Elizabeth’s name would be kept from the rest of the company, as much as possible.
“We do not know everything, but we have pieced together a series of events and motivations for Mr. Collins’s actions.” Mr. Darcy turned a stern eye on them all. “I should not think I need to warn you, but I will be explicit: though this will need to be disseminated in court against Mr. Collins, as much of it as possible should be kept from society, lest our reputations all suffer.”
So saying, Mr. Darcy explained the entire matter to them, including the progression of victims, the methods Mr. Collins had used and the outcomes of his attempts. Soon there were many shaking heads, as the company became aware of the man’s bungled attempts to kill her father.
“A member of your family killed my sister,” said Mrs. Hurst, as she glared at all Bennets once Mr. Darcy fell silent. “And in trying to kill your father, we are made to suffer when our only fault was to offer you shelter when you required it.”
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br /> “Louisa,” said Mr. Bingley, his tone chiding, “apportion blame to the one who deserves it—Mr. Collins. The Bennets are not at fault. They were just as much at risk as anyone else.”
“I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Hurst,” added Mr. Bennet. “It was my cousin who took your sister from you, and for that, I cannot apologize enough.”
“I will repeat,” said Mr. Bingley. “It was not your fault, sir. I am certain Louisa will acknowledge this in time.”
“Her resentment is understandable, Mr. Bingley,” replied Mr. Bennet. “I do not take offense, for I know I might feel the same in her situation.”
Mrs. Hurst sniffed in disdain and turned away, but at least she fell silent. Mr. Darcy, who had remained silent during the exchange, spoke up again to solicit any questions, and for a time he explained, to the best of his ability, anything they had not misunderstood.
“It is unfortunate, indeed,” said Mr. Bennet, shaking his head in remorse. “It might not have quelled the gossip entirely had Mr. Collins perished, but it would be better than what we all face now with a trial for murder upcoming. I fear society will not be kind to us, regardless of our innocence in this matter.”
“Heavens!” exclaimed Mrs. Bennet. “Whatever shall we do, Mr. Bennet? We will be shunned in Meryton! Our girls will never make good matches!”
“Mr. Collins’s connection to you was distant, and he was unknown in Meryton,” said Mr. Darcy. “This should allow you to escape the worst of the censure. It will not protect you from all gossip, but it would be worse if he were known to be one of the neighborhood.”
Elizabeth watched her mother as she listened to Mr. Darcy’s words. Mrs. Bennet was a flighty woman, one given to nerves and other such maladies, which Elizabeth had often thought were nothing more than her imagination. She did not think her mother would take it well, the first time she was subjected to the gossip of others.
But only time would tell in what form it would take. The Bennets had always had a good reputation in the neighborhood. Perhaps that would protect them to a certain extent.
