by Jennifer Joy
With admirable self-possession, Lord Harvisham lowered his voice and relaxed his rigid posture. “That is true, but it has been so long since your name has fostered anything in my breast but the deepest pity, I can no longer call to mind the motives which possessed me to propose to you.”
Aunt’s voice snapped, “Pity? You dare pity me when I descend from one of the greatest families in England?”
Lord Harvisham shook his head and sighed. “My father was an earl, too. I think you wished the title for me much more than I ever did.”
If Aunt Catherine held any tender regard for Lord Harvisham after they had parted ways, it must have been distressing for her to hear how he had inherited after she had refused him. And now, to hear him thank her for it and speak lovingly of his deceased wife? Her pride was taking a thorough and well-deserved thrashing.
“You are a fool if you cannot see the benefits of your position,” Aunt Catherine insulted.
“At what cost? I lost two brothers to inherit my title. If I could have them back, I would hand it to them on a golden platter. Tell me, Cathy, has your loyalty to society been to your gain? Do you still put its influence over the obligations of your heart and the interests of those you hold dear?”
“You can have no idea what I have sacrificed for the ones I love,” Aunt replied levelly.
Darcy knew the truth behind Aunt’s words. Her faults were many, but where Anne was concerned, she had been a fierce protector.
“Harvisham, Aunt Catherine, we are wasting precious time. Please, let us see to the matter at hand so we may continue about our day.” Darcy moved closer, taking a seat between them.
Bingley chose to remain at a distance. He had problems enough of his own with Aunt Catherine under his roof and a sister with overreaching aspirations. It was only a matter of time before Aunt Catherine slashed her claws at Miss Bingley.
Richard sat opposite Darcy, adding another barrier between the elderly opponents.
“Thank you, Darcy, you are right. There are graver matters at hand,” said Lord Harvisham.
The door to the parlor burst open, carrying Miss Bingley in like a chilling draft. “Your ladyship, I only now heard of the magistrate’s call — a negligence for which I must beg your pardon. My brother did not see fit to tell me you were in need of my assistance.”
Bingley stood, his eyes large. “Caroline, you must leave.”
“I will do no such thing when it is in my power to uphold the Darcy name above reproach.”
Richard gawked, his mouth wide open while, Lord Harvisham appeared amused at the addition of another bold female in the room.
It was the look on Aunt Catherine’s face which gave Darcy pause. He saw the workings of her mind as clearly as the gears of a clock.
“Miss Bingley, I encourage you to pay heed to your brother,” Darcy said, confident his plea would fall on deaf ears. If she chose to stay, she would dig her own grave.
Aunt Catherine focused her wrath on the young lady before her. “Miss Bingley, why do you presume to burst into a discussion to which you were purposely not invited?”
“I …” Miss Bingley stuttered in doubt. “I … came to assist you. I know you did not kill Mrs. Bennet.”
Lord Harvisham asked, “Can you account for Lady Catherine’s presence from the time she left the Meryton Inn until she returned?”
“Yes.”
“All of it? She was in your sight every second?” he insisted.
Miss Bingley shifted her weight. “It would be ridiculous to suppose I can account for every second. However, I can attest to her superior character and —”
“Miss Bingley,” Aunt hissed. “Your presence in this room is what is ridiculous. Not to mention your delusions of grandeur in believing yourself worthy of marrying one so far superior to you, you are unworthy to wipe the dust from his boots. Leave this parlor before I determine to turn the best families in London against you so that even your dearest friends wished they had never allowed your shabby slippers to cross their threshold.”
The walk of shame was five paces long, and Miss Bingley reached the doorway with her dignity dragging around her feet. Disappearing out to the hallway, Darcy heard her and Mrs. Hurst (who from the echoes of their whispers, had been eavesdropping) bicker until Bingley rose to close the door.
“Thank you, Mr. Bingley,” said Lord Harvisham, in his gentle voice communicating that he thought no ill of the gentleman for possessing a contentious sister.
Turning to Aunt Catherine, Lord Harvisham asked directly, “Lady Catherine, did you murder Mrs. Bennet?”
Darcy believed her innocent to the core of his soul, and yet he gripped the arms of his chair, turning his knuckles white, waiting for her answer.
Chapter 20
Stunned into speechlessness, Elizabeth walked partway along the hall with Charlotte before the irrefutable evidence crashed down around her. Lady Lucas? Elizabeth did not want to believe it. How could she tell her best friend of what she suspected, of what the evidence seemed to prove, without ending their long-standing friendship?
Desperate to disprove the notion, Elizabeth focused on the facts. Lady Lucas came to the haberdashery after Mother’s murder. Oh, but Elizabeth remembered seeing her leave the shop minutes before. It had struck her as odd that Lady Lucas had left the door open. Did the other ladies know? Had they seen or heard something? Tension crawled up Elizabeth’s spine, settling at the base of her neck. She could not trust those ladies. They had already lied.
She grasped at another fact. The marble mantel clock had been on the shelf behind the chair the same day William had returned to Meryton. Merely two days before the militia parade. If only she could ask if the clock had been sold … but she could not trust the Burks if they lied to protect Lady Lucas. But why this absurd pact of secrecy? Was Lady Lucas in possession of some information which could harm the Burks? Information which might explain their close association? If only Elizabeth knew the reason behind their meeting, it would offer insight into their lies.
“Lizzy, are you well?” Charlotte turned to her, resting her hand on Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“Yes,” she began to say, only to realize how easily she, too, had lied. Had it been as easy for Mr. Burk? What of the other ladies who did nothing to reveal their purpose, thus giving their support to Mr. Burk? As damning as the facts were, and as badly as she would rather blame a group of ladies instead of her best friend’s mother, Elizabeth could not lie to Charlotte.
“You worry me, Lizzy,” Charlotte reached for her hand, tugging on it for Elizabeth to follow her into her room and across the carpet to the settee placed under the polished window where the sunlight beaming between clouds revealed every line of concern on her friend’s face. Elizabeth could conceal nothing in this bright room even had she wished to.
“Shall I send for tea?” Charlotte asked, her eyes searching for a servant.
“No. Please do not trouble yourself.” What she must tell Charlotte was awful enough without the chance of a maid overhearing a portion of it.
“It is no trouble at all.” She slid forward on the cushion, making to stand.
Elizabeth grabbed her arm. “Please, I must insist.” Even to her own ears, she sounded frantic.
“What is it? Allow me to be your friend, and tell me what has disturbed you so that I may help.”
Elizabeth’s head buzzed and the flowered paper on Charlotte’s bedchamber walls blurred in her vision. The only sounds Elizabeth heard were her own shallow breaths. Was it a betrayal to believe Lady Lucas capable of the worst crime known to man when she so easily excused Lady Catherine of guilt?
“The clock.” Elizabeth’s voice floated from her of its own accord. Charlotte nodded, her eyes imploring her to continue.
“Is the clock new?” she asked, praying it was merely a coincidence and nothing more.
“I believe Mother bought it … recently,” Charlotte paused, her eyebrows knit together. Elizabeth could have finished her sentence more accurately for h
er.
“When precisely?” she asked. She had to be certain before she uttered a single word against Charlotte’s mother.
“Two or three days ago.”
The day of the parade. That dreadful day kept getting uglier. Elizabeth’s heart sank. Her need for answers and justice stood in direct opposition to a friendship she had treasured her entire life. She could no sooner hurt her dearest friend than she could Jane, and yet, if Lady Lucas was guilty, what was to prevent her from injuring another?
“I … I remember that clock. It chimed the hour when I saw Mr. Darcy return from London.” That had been a happy memory. How drastically things had changed in the course of four days … “I noticed it was gone the day Mother was killed. I remember thinking then that it must have been …” Elizabeth chewed on her lip, unable to say the words she needed to say.
“It must have been what?” Charlotte encouraged.
Tears choked Elizabeth and a sob escaped her. Her dear friend whom she would forever distance once the accusation was made, wrapped her arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders and held her.
Rocking her back and forth, Charlotte said, “You have had too much tragedy of late. Something has distressed you today, and I would love nothing more than to help you, but if you cannot speak it yet, I want you to know that I am always at your disposal. When you need me, I am here.”
Her kindness cut Elizabeth to the core. Shrugging off her arm, for she did not deserve Charlotte’s comfort, Elizabeth said, “It is so much worse than you think.” If she did not say it now, she never would. Inhaling deeply, she let it out in one, fluid breath. “It is very possible, almost certain, that the clock in Lady Lucas’ room is the same clock that killed my mother.”
Charlotte sat back, withdrawing her hand and her comfort. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth closed tightly in thought. She did not take more than a few seconds to contemplate Elizabeth’s words, but to Elizabeth it felt much longer.
Finally, Charlotte spoke. Her voice was even, without the quiver of emotion. “How can you be certain it was the clock used against Mrs. Bennet?”
It was a perfectly reasonable question to which, unfortunately, Elizabeth had an equally reasonable reply. “It was on the shelf before Mother was murdered, and it was gone afterward. Mother’s injury was of the kind which would require a heavy object, and the marble clock would have done the job efficiently without requiring great force from her attacker.”
“But you cannot be certain the clock was used, can you? The haberdashery is crowded with heavy objects.”
Not in the corner where Mother had sat. And not with the round curve required to crush her forehead as it was.
Trying to give credit to Charlotte’s argument, Elizabeth pictured the room as it had been the day she had sat in the chair in the corner. The feathers had tickled her fingers as they brushed against her when she sat. On the other side of the vase of feathers was the case holding the books in the lending library. Above her, the clock tick-tocked a steady rhythm, surrounded by small framed paintings, embroidered scenes, and tall, narrow candlesticks. Candlesticks? No, they were too narrow.
On the other side of the chair were writing tables and an assortment of inkwells scattered over their polished surfaces. An inkwell? She latched on to the possibility. “There is the slight chance an inkwell could have done it. If there was one heavy enough.”
Charlotte, clearly as eager to grasp at straws as Elizabeth was, said, “You see? It is only a coincidence. You are overly strained and the worry is blurring your reason. Now, I promise I will keep my ears open for any news. If I hear anything which might help us determine who has committed this horrible crime, I will run to Longbourn to tell you in person.”
Charlotte’s optimism tormented Elizabeth’s guilt, for no matter how reasonable it was to think of the possibility of another object being used as a weapon, it did not take away her suspicions against the mantel clock in Lady Lucas’ possession.
“I am so sorry, Charlotte.”
“Do not be,” Charlotte said, as she rose from the settee. Clasping her hands together in front of her, she added, “No matter what you may think, I refuse to believe my mother capable of committing such a heinous crime against a family we have considered friends. Our loyalty is stronger than your suspicions, and I thank you to extend us the same courtesy.”
And there it was. The offense. Elizabeth had never felt so low.
Charlotte stepped over to the door, waiting expectantly for Elizabeth to leave.
Mustering what dignity she could, Elizabeth followed her out to the hall, leaving her at the top of the stairs.
“Charlotte, I —” Elizabeth did not know what she could say to repair the damage.
“Not now, Lizzy. Please, go home and allow me time to discern what has happened here today.” That said, Charlotte disappeared through her doorway.
Elizabeth did not know how long her leaden feet refused to move, but a puppy whine brought her to her senses enough to continue to the bottom of the stairs where the butler extended a recently brushed puppy with pink bows around her ears and neck squirming in a basket.
“Miss Elizabeth, shall I ask Sir William to allow his carriage to convey you home? This little miss will be a handful for you, I fear.” The kindly butler smiled at her as if she were a part of his master’s family.
She reached out to take the basket. The puppy stretched up the side and leaned her head back to lick Elizabeth’s fingers. The endearing gesture twisted Elizabeth’s gut, her guilt increasing. “No, thank you. I have been enough trouble today and should take my leave. I enjoy the exercise and Longbourn is not far.” The butler look confused, as well he should, but Elizabeth looped the basket through her arms and clutched them to her chest on her way out of the dark entrance hall of Lucas Lodge. She was not welcome there anymore.
The sun blinded her, and she blamed the bright luminary for provoking the tears streaming down her cheeks. Tears which the puppy thought were part of a delightful game. She pounced up to lick them from the air.
Stopping to dry her face, Elizabeth said to the innocent animal, “I have made a mess of things, have I not? William must think me the most ungrateful human being of his acquaintance and most unfit to marry. Charlotte most assuredly believes me to be the worst friend on the earth. And, did you know, blissfully happy puppy, that I recently lost my mother?"
Accepting her discomfort as deserved punishment for all her recent wrongs, she pulled the heavy basket closely to her heart (which, of the two, was decidedly heavier) and set out at a brisk pace for her home, repeating over and over to herself how content she ought to be at the prospect of bringing cheer to one of her sisters — even if Elizabeth herself doubted she could ever again feel happy.
Chapter 21
“Darcy, what is the matter with you?” Richard asked after the last interview appointment left, closing the door to the private room behind them.
Lord Harvisham and Tanner made no motion to leave, and Darcy was in no mood to air his concerns out in the open.
“You were rude to Mr. Burk. He may have provided us with a valuable lead to the missing inkwell,” commented Lord Harvisham.
“Someone probably pinched it,” mumbled Tanner.
“Perhaps, but I need your help searching for it nonetheless,” Lord Harvisham ordered.
Tanner furled his brow. “He was rude and I am being punished. Perfect.”
Darcy returned Tanner’s glare. “He needed to know he is still considered a suspect.” The men who had helped him unload their cart of furniture could not attest to his constant presence in the back room while they labored.
“You called his character into question,” Lord Harvisham said in a monotone.
“He cared more for the reputation of his precious shop than the lives affected by Mrs. Bennet’s death. I care not if I have offended him and his wife when they have acted in an abominable fashion toward their own patrons.” Even though Mr. Bennet had the reputation of forgetting to pay the expenses in
curred by his wife, even Mr. Burk had admitted that he did always pay … eventually.
Lord Harvisham said, “Mr. Tanner, ask Mrs. Molly to bring in some of her delicious beef stew. Perhaps Mr. Darcy’s humor will return to him if we fill his belly.”
Tanner guffawed. “Return his humor? He would have to possess one first.”
Richard chuckled with him. “You do not know Darcy well enough yet, sir. What you witnessed today is fairly normal. Oh, wipe that surly frown off your face, Darcy.”
If he had worn a frown, it was now a full scowl. “Do you not find it frustrating that in a scene with perhaps hundreds of potential witnesses, not one of them can admit to seeing anything of import? The entire village has gone silent, and we are no closer to determining the identity of Mrs. Bennet’s murderer than we were the day it occurred. Unless we are cautious, we will have to send Aunt Catherine to Hertford for trial for the mere reason that we were unable to discover a better suspect. It is unacceptable!”
Lord Harvisham’s chair squeaked under his weight as he leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “As much delight as I might take in causing Cathy discomfort, I would never wish her harm when it is in my power to prevent it. Her presence at the LAMB society meeting before the parade, and her refusal to reveal her whereabouts when she left, bodes ill for her.”
Darcy squeezed his fingers together until his bones cracked.
“Calm yourself, man,” said Tanner, returning to the room with a platter heaped with steaming bowls of stew and chunks of bread. Mrs. Molly came behind him, balancing four large tankards of ale in her hands.
"You would not be calm if you were in my place," Darcy complained.
Richard tore off a piece of bread, dunking it in his stew. "And why is that, Darcy? Because instead of comforting the lady you wish to marry, you choose to stay with us unmarried chaps?"
Lord Harvisham lifted his tankard. "Well put, Colonel."
"You would have me ignore the murder of Elizabeth's mother? Justice must be meted out or she will never have peace." Darcy could excuse Tanner and Richard's ignorance. They knew nothing of the ways of women. But Lord Harvisham ought to have known better.
