by Jennifer Joy
"Understandably so, Mr. Thorne," said Lord Harvisham.
One detail niggled in the back of Elizabeth's mind. Mrs. Thorne loved cake. It was her weakness. Why had she not eaten a slice? For that matter, why had none in Elizabeth’s family fallen ill? Mrs. Hill had made two cakes that morning — much to the consternation of Cook, who did not like anyone to invade her domain. Lydia, like Mr. Collins, had eaten the majority of it, but she was well. And even with her generous portions, there had been enough for all of them to enjoy a slice of gingerbread with their tea.
William considered Mr. Collins and Mr. Thorne with narrowed eyes. Were his suspicions toward a certain individual growing as hers were? Elizabeth did not understand the motive as yet, but too many pieces of the puzzle fit.
She hung on William’s every word when he spoke. "Mr. Collins, are your affairs in order should the worst occur?"
That, she had not expected.
Father and Lord Harvisham shot him horrified looks, but William gave no reaction to indicate he was in the least bit affected. Elizabeth, too, wondered what he was about.
"Might I presume … upon your goodwill …” Mr. Collins began in his usual manner before thinking better of using flowery speech with the effort it required. “Will you help me?”
Father, who continued filling in the blanks Mr. Collins did not have the energy to fill, said, “I will help draft the will. Perhaps Lord Harvisham and Mr. Thorne will agree to serve as your witnesses.”
"Mr. Thorne, might we send someone to fetch some parchment and your inkwell for Mr. Collins?" William suggested.
When Lord Harvisham and William exchanged a knowing look, Elizabeth knew they had a plan of some sort. What it was and why, she could not even guess. She knew the Burks' shop was missing an inkwell, but what did that have to do with Mr. Thorne?
The maid departed for the vicar's study, and Mr. Thorne himself seemed more chipper than he had been moments before. He still slumped in his seat clutching his stomach, but his countenance noticeably improved. "I am honored my wife's gift should be put to such an honorable use, gentlemen. Please forgive my eagerness to show it to you — especially in these dire circumstances."
A gift? The inkwell was a gift? Evidently, William's suspicions were the same as hers. If only he could prove it. All she had to go on were her instincts, and they had led her wrong too many times before for her to trust them now.
Mr. Thorne continued, “I consider Mr. Collins to have saved my life and that of my dear wife. After all, we did not know the cake was poisoned. I trust God will not allow such an act of bravery to go unrewarded, and I pray for his full recovery.”
If overindulging in gingerbread was an act of bravery, then Lydia ought to be allowed to fight against Napoleon. She would win the war and Charlotte could marry Colonel Fitzwilliam without the worry he might be sent to fight on the continent.
Elizabeth heard feminine voices at the bottom of the steps and crossed the hallway to better listen. It was not eavesdropping. She was collecting evidence.
"Mr. Thorne sent for it, ma'am. I cannot return without it."
"I insist you take my inkwell then. This one is an embarrassment."
Their voices faded away as Mrs. Thorne convinced the maid to retrieve a different inkwell.
Feeling like a clue was slipping through their fingers, Elizabeth joined the men in Mr. Collins' room. "Mr. Thorne, why would your wife call the inkwell she gifted you an embarrassment?"
"Cousin Elizabeth … not suitable …" Mr. Collins tugged at the covers by his chin, hitting himself in the nose when his grip was too weak to pull them up.
Father reached his hand out to prevent her from speaking. "Mr. Collins, my daughter is here with my permission and under the supervision of several gentlemen here who are, along with Lizzy, more interested in seeing to your improved health than in seeing you in your bedclothes."
Mr. Collins remained unconvinced, but Elizabeth did not wish to budge. She felt safer inside the room than she did alone in the hall. If her suspicions were true, who knew what Mrs. Thorne would do next? Elizabeth went over every conversation and encounter with the vicar’s wife over the last few days. Her comments, which Elizabeth had taken in comfort at the time, now held new meaning. Had she considered Mother an impurity? What had been Mary’s comment … about the bruising of the serpent’s head? Shivers ran down Elizabeth’s spine.
Father and Mr. Thorne talked soothingly to Mr. Collins. He must have been horribly fatigued with all the goings on, but his determination to adhere to the suggestion of the nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh gave him the extra stamina necessary to see the creation of his will done.
Elizabeth looked anxiously out of the door toward the stairs, but she heard nothing. Could Mrs. Thorne have escaped?
William whispered to her, "If any mention of the inkwell is made, Richard and Tanner will be alert. They will not allow her to leave."
"That is exactly what worried me. How did you know?" It was entirely unfair William should be able to read her thoughts accurately when she too often misread his.
"Even if she possesses the inkwell, it proves nothing. We must be patient."
The maid came in bearing the utensils needed to write, along with a tray to rest them on near Father at the foot of Mr. Collins’ bed.
"That is not the inkwell I requested," said Mr. Thorne, clearly displeased, but looking as if he did not wish to cause any more trouble by having the maid make another trip to his study for the desired item.
Lord Harvisham said, "I should very much like to see your inkwell. Why did you not say what the gift was before in the haberdashery?"
Encouraged by Lord Harvisham, Mr. Thorne sent the maid downstairs yet again. "It is silly, but Mrs. Thorne is ashamed of it. You see, on the way home from the shop, she dropped her basket, cracking the mirror on the lid before it rolled into a puddle of muck. Had I not seen her drying it off with a towel, I daresay she would not have given it to me when she did." He chuckled. "She has attempted to take it from me several times to replace the glass, but I appreciated her gesture and her modesty so much, I would not dream of parting with it."
"Tokens of appreciation should be properly valued. Well done, Mr. Thorne," said Lord Harvisham.
Elizabeth again heard voices downstairs, but she did not venture out into the hall this time.
When the maid came upstairs, Mrs. Thorne accompanied her.
"My dear Mr. Thorne, why do you insist on embarrassing me publicly?" she asked.
William moved aside to let her stand next to her husband, stepping closer to Elizabeth and creating a barrier between the two ladies.
Lord Harvisham moved around to stand at the foot of the bed between her and Father.
Elizabeth was surrounded. And she was glad of it. So long as her protectors were not harmed.
"My love, I am not ashamed of you. To the contrary, your humility astounds me and makes me wish to display your thoughtful gift to all of Meryton. If only the members in our congregation could be so fortunate to marry as well as I have."
Father lifted the inkwell the maid had set on the tray, commenting, "No wonder the glass cracked. The size and weight of the bronze is significant." Had he known for what the inkwell had been used, he would have understood the significance of his observation.
Lord Harvisham asked, "When did you say you purchased this inkwell for Mr. Thorne?"
"It must have been a week ago, I think. I cannot remember precisely which day." Mrs. Thorne phrased her answer carefully, still pious in her refusal to lie outright.
Mr. Thorne said, "I remember very well. It was the same day we had that horrible rain. The day of the parade."
Mrs. Thorne glared at her forthright husband, clicking another piece of the puzzle into place. Until that moment, Elizabeth had not disregarded the idea that Mr. Thorne might have acted with his wife.
Lord Harvisham observed it as well. Sending for Mr. Tanner, he asked him to fetch Mr. Burk.
Mrs. Thorne's agitation g
rew, as did Mr. Thorne's confusion.
“What is this about?” asked Mr. Thorne.
Elizabeth’s heart went out to the poor man. Of the two clergymen in the room, he was more clueless (as difficult as that may be to imagine). He looked around the room for answers.
William would be too direct, as would Lord Harvisham. Father was too unaware of the details to understand completely what game was underfoot. She asked, “Mr. Thorne, you mentioned you would display your wife’s lovely gift before all of Meryton? Did you have plans to use it at the hearing on the morrow?”
He brightened before he looked down at his hands. “I know it is vanity on my part. Mrs. Thorne warned me of it, but I thought it would be practical to bring my own writing things to save Mr. Tanner the burden of providing them at his inn. These details often get overlooked.”
And with his admission, the connection between Mother’s murder and Mr. Thorne’s poisoning was explained. Once again, Elizabeth found herself standing within a few feet of a cold-blooded murderer. A murderess. Of course, this time, Elizabeth was not alone.
The scorn with which Mrs. Thorne regarded her husband erased every doubt Elizabeth held against her guilt.
“You fool! You simply cannot keep your mouth shut, can you?” Mrs. Thorne hissed.
“My love!” Mr. Thorne sat back abruptly in his chair as if she had slapped him.
Mrs. Thorne moved toward the doorway, but Colonel Fitzwilliam blocked her path. “Not so fast, Mrs. Thorne. We are onto you.”
Mr. Thorne tried to stand, then thought better of it when his weakened legs wobbled under his weight. “What is this? My love? What have you done?”
William widened his stance in front of Elizabeth, blocking her from danger as effectively as Colonel Fitzwilliam blocked Mrs. Thorne’s escape from the room. “Mr. Thorne, we have reason to believe Mrs. Thorne used that inkwell against Mrs. Bennet, then, she poisoned you to prevent you from revealing her secret before all Meryton on the morrow.”
Mrs. Thorne screamed as one possessed. Flailing one hand around, she scratched at Colonel Fitzwilliam’s face while the other reached into her pocket. The flame from the candle reflected off the blade of a pen knife she held in her hand. William pushed Elizabeth back. Furniture scraped against the floor as the men lunged forward. Between the wide shoulders of William and Lord Harvisham, Elizabeth saw Father dive at Mrs. Thorne before darkness swallowed the room whole.
“Father!” Elizabeth screamed.
Chapter 31
"For heaven's sake, bring in a lit candle," shouted Lord Harvisham as the room went still. Deathly still.
William held Elizabeth in place, first with one arm, then with a full embrace. She had fought him at first, but once her brain caught up to her reaction, she realized the wisdom in staying where she was. But Father…. It was so quiet. And the wait was excruciating. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes, willing them to focus in the dark to no avail.
Closing her eyes, she imagined the room in her head. There had been a window behind her.
"Open the curtains behind you," William whispered to her. Too concerned to be annoyed at being told to do what she had already decided, she shoved the curtains to the side, flooding the room with moonlight. Rushing over to the doorway, she heard gasps.
Mr. Tanner had returned with the Burks and Colonel Fitzwilliam out in the hall, but Elizabeth only had eyes for Father. He lay on the floor in a crumpled heap with Mrs. Thorne. Neither of them moved.
William rolled Mrs. Thorne off Father. His white shirt and neck cloth were stained dark.
"Father," Elizabeth ran her fingers over his face, cursing her heart for beating too loudly for her to hear if he breathed.
He groaned, reaching up to rub his head. His coat fell in shreds off his arm. "Oh," he said, pulling his arm to him and holding it against his chest.
"Father, you are hurt. Let me help you." Panic welled up within her.
With a shaking hand, he reached for her arms, holding them down. "Lizzy, I am well enough. In the last murder investigation it was my feet. It only suits that this time it should be my arms to suffer. If there is ever another murder in Meryton, which the odds do not favor, I fear for my house."
She choked on a laugh and the tears entering her mouth as she sucked in air. Father would keep his wits about him at a time like this.
From behind her, she heard Tanner say, “We came running when we heard the scream. I believe most of Meryton heard it, Miss Elizabeth.”
Father chuckled. “My ears are still ringing.”
William, leaving Mrs. Thorne in the care of Mr. Thorne, asked Father, "Do you have enough strength to sit on the bed?"
Helping Father up, William said, "Is there a surgeon near?"
Tanner’s heavy footsteps moved toward the stairs. "I will send the houseboy for him immediately."
"Make haste. Mr. Bennet has several cuts on his arms and looks to be losing a lot of blood." Pulling out his handkerchief, William helped Father out of his coat. Father's shirt stuck to him, brilliant red. Wrapping the linen and tying it tightly around his arm, William tended to Father's wounds as best he could while the other gentlemen circled around Mrs. Thorne.
Elizabeth stood at the end of the bed beside Father. The inkwell had tipped over, spilling its contents all over the tray. Mr. Collins lay limply in the bed, the only sign of movement were his eyes, which roved around the room.
Mr. Thorne had dropped to his knees on the floor, cradling his wife’s head in his lap. "My dear, dear wife. I would not have believed you capable of such evil had I not seen it with my own eyes. Confess your sins and make peace with God."
Lord Harvisham moved over to Mr. Thorne, occupying the chair the clergyman had vacated. "You had best pay heed to your husband, Mrs. Thorne. If you are fortunate enough to recover from your injuries, you will not fare so well before a jury."
Mrs. Thorne lifted the hands she had clutched over her ribs, pulling the pen knife out of her body and letting it fall to the floor. Elizabeth turned away and pinched her eyes shut. Mrs. Thorne would not be with them much longer.
“I have done my duty by God,” she said in a display of eerie calm.
"Did you murder Mrs. Bennet?" asked Lord Harvisham.
"I did it. She was a serpent. The offspring of Satan." She spoke as if she were reciting cold, distant facts.
Mr. Thorne covered his eyes, his shoulders shaking. "Why? Oh, why?" he exclaimed.
"You were too weak to do it. You were content to trust a woman like her to see the error of her ways and change. How many ladies — ladies more righteous than she — did she need to offend before she was stopped?" she scoffed, her words bubbling out of her mouth in a gurgle.
"I believe in the goodness of people. I was not put on this earth to be their judge. That is for God alone to decide," Mr. Thorne answered softly.
"I only did what so many wished to do. I bruised her in the head like the serpent in the prophecy of Genesis. I do not regret what I have done," Mrs. Thorne said in a whisper devoid of human empathy. She was fading fast.
"How did you do it?" asked Lord Harvisham.
"I hit her with the inkwell when she tried to get up off the floor. She belonged … with her belly on the floor … like a serpent." Her answers got shorter and her breath more labored.
Elizabeth wanted to hear nothing more from the vile woman who dared compare her mother to a serpent when she had acted as traitorously as a ferocious beast lacking conscience and humanity.
"That is enough to call off the hearing on the morrow. Before these witnesses who have heard her testimony of guilt, I think it best now to wait for the surgeon to arrive. If Mrs. Thorne recovers, she shall be conveyed to await the next Great Session in Hertford," declared Lord Harvisham.
"That will not be necessary," whispered Mr. Thorne. He closed his wife's eyelids and crossed her arms over her chest. Tears flowed down his cheeks. "What is worse, my lord? To learn she held me in derision or to mourn the death of the worst kind of sinner?"
/> The earl stood from the chair, offering it to Mr. Thorne. Squeezing his shoulder, Lord Harvisham said, "I am sorry, Mr. Thorne. The betrayal of one's trust is the greatest offense known to man."
Father spoke. "And I am sorry. Had I not grabbed for her …"
"Mrs. Thorne would have caused much more harm than she did. What you did was brave, Mr. Bennet, and I doubt anyone present would testify you acted out of anything but in the defense of the others in this room," finished William.
Colonel Fitzwilliam raised his hand to his face, covered with angry, bloody welts. "I will second that. Does anyone object?"
His question was met with silence. Mrs. Thorne had killed Mother, Mr. Collins’ greedy appetite had ultimately led to her discovery, and Father had incidentally brought about her end.
“That being settled, perhaps Mr. Burk will be so kind as to fetch the coroner. The sooner he does his inquest, the better for all of us.”
Mr. Burk, who had looked on along with Mrs. Burk in shocked silence, was moved to action. He clambered down the steps in a hurry only hindered by his clumsiness.
Addressing Father and herself, William added, “All of us will stay to ensure the inquest report reflects a true account of what transpired. Mr. Bennet acted in our defense.”
Lord Harvisham, Colonel Fitzwilliam, Mr. Thorne, and Mr. Tanner agreed unanimously.
A weak voice floated to them from the pillows. “I would never will my inheritance to the daughters of a gentleman with blood on his hands. It gives me great pride to return Longbourn to the descendants of the Bennet name on my passing.”
“Stuff and fluff, Mr. Collins. You know as well as I do the entail does not work that way. You will be as right as rain on the morrow and shall torment me often with your frequent and long visits in your hopes of catching my Mary’s eye. I can assure you, sir, you have a struggle on your hands since she has occupied her time with worthwhile employment at her Uncle Philips’ home,” said Father, to the mortification of Mr. Collins, whose face went from a greenish hue to a decidedly red shade.
