by Jennifer Joy
Miss Elizabeth had never been a good one to conceal her expression, and her eyes spoke to Darcy as clearly as words at that moment. It made his decision easier to bear. And yet, he could not leave without accomplishing what he had set out to do that evening.
Thinking quickly, and trusting she would understand, he said, “I am sorry for speaking out of turn, Miss Elizabeth. It was unpardonably rude, and I beg your pardon.”
He heard Miss Bingley mumble, “A mere interruption hardly merits such an apology.”
That was not what Darcy apologized for, but it mattered not. Miss Elizabeth understood him. She knew he regretted having insulted her at the Meryton Assembly. He saw it in her eyes. They softened, and her breath trembled.
He could have spent all night rooted in that same spot, watching the transformation in Miss Elizabeth’s eyes. He did not need her to utter the words to know she felt them.
Darcy turned to Bingley, “The best you can do is to return to your party. I apologize if I have ruined your evening.”
“I will not give up, Darcy. I will find out who has done this,” he said.
Darcy patted his friend’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend.”
Miss Elizabeth and Miss Bingley stood behind him, offering their support.
Turning, Darcy said, “Let us go.” He had a good many questions to ask Colonel Forster and Mr. Stallard— without the interference of Mr. Tanner.
He did not allow himself to look back as they left the house, but he heard her.
“I forgive you,” she said. He had not realized how badly he craved to hear those words from her until she had pronounced them. It was the best parting gift Elizabeth could have offered.
Chapter 15
Mr. Darcy had been arrested. The image of him walking between the constable and the colonel burned in Elizabeth’s eyes. They had flanked him as if he were a common criminal, but he had walked away with his head held high. And in the midst of all his troubles, he had apologized to her. All the negative thoughts she had ever held against Mr. Darcy had melted into a puddle at her feet, never to rise up in her heart again.
“You are quiet, Lizzy,” said Father, as he handed her out of the carriage. They had left Netherfield Park as soon as their carriage could be readied.
“We are all quiet, Papa.” She followed Mr. Collins, her mother, and her sisters, who walked in stupors of silence, into their home.
Mrs. Yeats sat near the fire in the drawing room, a book in her hand. She stood as they filed into the room. “Has something happened? Are you well?” she asked, looking between them with concern.
Mother flopped into the nearest chair, fanning her face and leaning against the cushions as if she were so overwhelmed, she could not even hold her head up. “I daresay most of Meryton will call so that they may hear the news.” The thought cheered her miraculously. Sitting upright, she added excitedly, “How trying it shall be to have so many callers.” Her eyes darted around the drawing room in anticipation of her expected popularity.
“Oh, no, my dear Mrs. Bennet, we must not allow for Mr. Darcy’s reputation to be slandered thus,” commented an appalled Mr. Collins. For once, Elizabeth agreed with him.
“I certainly will not take the initiative to bring up the subject, but how am I to prevent others from doing so?” responded Mother.
“A fire soon goes out with no fuel to feed it,” commented Father. “Mr. Collins is right, Mrs. Bennet. Your social talents are better spent cheering your youngest daughter.”
Jane sat on the sofa beside Mrs. Yeats. “How is Lydia?” she asked.
Clapping her hands together, Mother remembered her ill daughter. “Oh, yes, my poor, dear Lydia. I do hope she has recovered enough to receive callers?”
If she were appalled at Mother’s priorities, Mrs. Yeats hid it well. Only a hint of sharpness affected her voice. “My guess is that Miss Lydia ate one too many sweets, as I am learning she is prone to do. She was miserable with the stomachache for a couple of hours after you left, but it eventually passed. She is asleep now.”
“What a blessing she did not come with us. You, too, Mrs. Yeats, were spared the danger of sharing a table with a murderer.” Mother shivered dramatically.
Mr. Collins exclaimed louder than Elizabeth. “Mrs. Bennet, I must insist! Please spread this malignant news no further.”
As could be expected, Mrs. Yeats’ eyes enlarged at that bit of information.
“Mrs. Bennet,” said Father, rolling his eyes, “while it is true there was a sort of arrest this evening, Mr. Bingley explained to us that it is more for Mr. Darcy’s protection than a formal accusation. I thank you to remember that when the gossips arrive tomorrow.” He looked apologetically at Mr. Collins.
Elizabeth had admired Mr. Bingley’s efforts to minimize the scandal, but an arrest was an arrest no matter the motive. It was the most exciting thing to happen in Meryton in a long time, and it would not take long for word to spread and for the villagers to consign Mr. Darcy to the hangman’s noose. Nobody would defend him. Nobody liked him. She flexed her hands before her nails bruised her palms.
Mrs. Yeats shook her head. “Am I to understand Mr. Darcy was arrested for the murder of Mr. Wickham? It cannot be! He is from a noble family and has such high manners.”
“And yet it was done. Someone killed Mr. Wickham, and who is to say it was not Mr. Darcy?” said Kitty, voicing the self-righteous judgment Elizabeth had expected to hear in Meryton— not from her own sister.
“Kitty!” Elizabeth exclaimed before she could stop herself. “Mr. Darcy is not a murderer. How can you accuse him so easily?”
Kitty folded her arms together defiantly. “The same way you dismiss the idea so easily. Why do you care so much, Lizzy? You cannot know that he did not do it.”
Oh, but she did. However, she had already said too much. If Mr. Darcy had prevented her from speaking before the colonel and the constable, he most certainly would not appreciate her revealing the truth to her family. Would he rather dangle from the end of a rope than marry her? Surely, it could not be that bad.
If Mr. Darcy preferred death to a lifetime with her, then she would simply have to solve the murder and, in the process, show him she could be every bit as fierce as the most accomplished lady he would ever meet.
Ready to take on the world, Elizabeth said with feeling, “I do not think it just he has been arrested for a crime that, as yet, nobody can prove he committed. Would not justice be better served if the accused person were considered innocent until proved guilty?” She looked to Father for support.
He bunched up his cheeks. “Perhaps, though I think it would be wise on your part not to voice your opinions outside these walls. Mr. Tanner dislikes Mr. Darcy so intensely, I would not be surprised if he arrests you for coming to the gentleman’s defense.”
“It is not so much to defend the gentleman, but rather to see justice properly served,” said Elizabeth, she said half-heartedly.
“In the end, we all render accounts to God. If it is his will, justice will be carried out,” contributed Mary. Kitty nodded her agreement.
Jane, who twisted her fingers in agitation, said, “Would not God want us to help our fellow man when he is in trouble? What of the neighborly Samaritan? I am of the mind that what happened to Mr. Wickham was all one horrible accident. It could be that simple, could it not?”
Father smiled lovingly at her. “My sweet, innocent Janey, I wish it were so simple. However, Mr. Wickham was shot through the heart in his quarters. While he may have suffered a fatal accident whilst, shall we say, cleaning his weapons or from a stray bullet at target practice, it is not likely it would hit him directly in the heart. And then, there is the matter of his pistol— the weapon it is supposed shot him. It is still missing.”
Mr. Collins, who had not stopped rubbing his hands together since entering the house, said, “I feel it incumbent upon me to write to Lady Catherine and inform her of what her nephew suffers. She will hire the best investigator in the country and so
on enough establish order.” He spoke with importance, as if Lady Catherine were a crown judge.
“But Mr. Darcy explicitly asked for you not to inform her. Would it not be best to consult with him first?” objected Elizabeth.
She could see clearly enough that Mr. Collins did not agree with her. Before he could expound on the superiority of Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s judgment, she added, “Lady Catherine would, no doubt, do precisely as you say, but would it not be a kindness on your part to inquire first of Mr. Darcy if such assistance is required? He may have a good reason not to inform her of what is transpiring.” She did not know this for certain, but Elizabeth sensed that Mr. Darcy hid more than just their compromising situation in the library. He had another secret. There must be someone else involved, for she did not flatter herself that he would risk his life merely to allow her to marry for love.
Mr. Collins considered. “I do believe I will go into Meryton on the morrow to offer some spiritual and moral comfort to Mr. Darcy. And then, if I see the need for it, I will write to Lady Catherine. How sensible of you to suggest a more delicate measure, Cousin Elizabeth. It will please Lady Catherine to know that my relatives are equally concerned over the welfare of her nephew as she would be.” His cheeks scrunched his eyes up into a painful looking smile of which Elizabeth did not care to be the recipient.
Father looked at her over his spectacles. “Let us hope all will be resolved soon. Lizzy, I know it is in your nature to be curious, and you will help someone who you believe to be falsely accused… to the detriment of your own safety and reputation, I might add.”
“I hardly think expressing my opinion of Mr. Darcy’s innocence is damaging to my reputation.”
“No, but it stands in stark contrast to the opinion of the majority, and there are those who might question why you feel the need to champion Mr. Darcy’s cause when no one else does. You are an intelligent girl, and I will leave it at that. Mrs. Yeats will agree with me.”
Elizabeth felt her face flush, and was grateful that the only illumination in the room was the small fireplace and a few lit candles.
“Miss Elizabeth, I do agree with Mr. Bennet,” said Mrs. Yeats. “People already have enough fodder for their gossip without adding a dangerous romance to it. Besides, if Mr. Darcy did not….” She shuddered and wrapped her shawl more firmly around her shoulders. “If Mr. Darcy is innocent, it means the criminal is still free to cause harm, and it is no longer safe for you to indulge in the freedoms you formerly enjoyed.”
That got Mother’s attention. “We shall be murdered in our beds! Mr. Bennet, we must arrange for the servants to stand watch lest we come to harm.”
“Nonsense, my dear. So far as we know, the killer is gone. Why would he stay and risk capture?”
“Why, indeed? It would be the height of foolishness to stay nearby and witness the harm he had caused. Unless, he was an officer in the militia,” added Mr. Collins.
Father’s brows furled together and he pinched his chin. “Hmm. Now that does bring up an interesting point.”
“You still think an officer did it?” asked Kitty incredulously.
“It is possible, but no, I am referring to the other bit Mr. Collins said about witnessing the harm done. In a village full of people who dislike the gentleman, it is convenient that he was the one arrested. If someone held something against Mr. Darcy, he would provide the perfect scapegoat. A person with a dark bend of the mind would take great pleasure in watching Mr. Darcy suffer.”
Elizabeth remembered Mr. Tanner’s manners against Mr. Darcy. He had seemed to enjoy the arrest. Did his aggression toward Mr. Darcy have a deeper cause than their difference in social classes? How could she find out without causing more disturbance? If he was the source of the villagers’ growing animosity toward Mr. Darcy, he must be stopped.
Warnings or not, Elizabeth would walk into Meryton in the morning to investigate. She would continue where Mr. Darcy was unable. She would discover the identity of the real killer… or die trying, her mind added. She shivered before squaring her shoulders.
No, there would be no more deaths. She would be cautious and walk on the main road instead of cutting through the fields. No one would accost her in plain view of passersby and field hands. She would be safe.
Chapter 16
Sleep did not come to Darcy until he had drafted two letters, and then it only came in fits and spurts.
He woke the following morning, his eyes dry from lack of rest, to see that Lawrence had acquired a tub for bathing and was filling it with steaming water.
“The housekeeper was kind enough to allow us the use of the bath, sir. I shall have it ready for you before long,” he said as he poured a kettle of hot water into the tub and a waft of steam obscured him from view.
Darcy squeezed the base of his neck, trying to relax his sore muscles. “You are a good man, Lawrence.”
Lawrence paused on his way out the door to receive another kettle of water from the footman. “And you are a good man, Mr. Darcy. Why do you permit others to continue to think the worst of you?”
“Do you really think people will believe me if I told them the truth about Wickham now? They have made him into a martyr, and they would hate me all the more for defiling his name after his death.”
“Please, sir, you misunderstand me. I would never suggest you expose Miss Darcy to the comments which such a revelation would ensure.” He took one step closer to Darcy, clasping his hands before him.
Darcy understood what Lawrence meant. Only he had hoped to avoid the topic.
“Why do I not reveal my whereabouts at the hour it is supposed Wickham was shot?” asked Darcy.
Lawrence looked up. “I have been observing Miss Elizabeth since her stay at Netherfield Park. Please forgive my impertinence, sir, but I noticed how you acted differently toward her. I imagined you esteemed her more than other young ladies, and consequently, I have inquired about her discreetly.”
Darcy’s head shot up. “To whom have you spoken?”
“Only other servants, and always with the mention of the other Bennets. I never singled her out, knowing you would not appreciate me drawing attention to a preference of yours.”
His preference? Was it so obvious to everyone besides him? Certainly, he held Miss Elizabeth in high regard, but for it to be so noticeable disturbed Darcy greatly.
“What were you told?” he asked, indulging in his curiosity.
“Nothing I am certain you have not already ascertained on your own. She is loyal to a fault and speaks truthfully at all times.”
Darcy held back a chuckle. Initially, Darcy had thought that Miss Elizabeth’s sarcastic remarks had been flirtatious banter. What a fool he had been! She had spoken the truth as she saw it and this revelation, while unflattering to his own character, had earned his trust.
A gripping need to reveal his crippling secret to her overwhelmed him. It was already written. It only needed to be delivered.
“What else?” he asked, craving more.
“She is intelligent. I did not need to hear it from anyone else to know its truth.” Raising his head slightly, Lawrence was emboldened enough to say, “She is not intimidated by you, sir.”
This time, Darcy chuckled aloud. The sound was strange to his ears, almost as if he had forgotten how to laugh with the tension of the past few days. Nay, not only the past few days. He had worn the burden of secrets and responsibility for years now.
“I suppose it was her disposition toward merriness which inclined me to like her. Miss Elizabeth does not take herself too seriously and would sooner laugh at her own mistakes than allow them to make her bitter. It is refreshing… and distinct to my own tendencies,” Darcy spoke softer the more personal his words became.
Lawrence poured another kettle of water into the tub and signaled to Darcy that it was ready.
Darcy had hoped Lawrence would contradict his unflattering assessment of his own character, but he did not. Was he that proud? Apparently, he still had much wor
k to do. His apology to Miss Elizabeth was a start, but it depended on him to continue to cultivate humility.
Lawrence handed him some soap, saying, “She complements you. You could do much worse, sir, if I may be so bold as to blatantly offer my opinion.”
The water turned milky-white as Darcy scrubbed his body. “Would that prevent you from offering your opinion anyway, Lawrence?”
Setting the soap aside, Darcy leaned back against the tub and let his muscles melt in the hot water. He opened one eye to catch his valet’s reaction and was pleased to see the hint of a smile.
“I do have a favor to ask of you—” began Darcy.
A knock at the door interrupted.
Lawrence opened the door a crack.
“I apologize for the interruption, sir, but Mr. Stallard wishes to speak with Mr. Darcy. Shall I tell him to wait or shall I tell him to return later?” the footman asked.
Lawrence looked over his shoulder at Darcy.
Darcy shrugged his shoulders. Frankly, he did not care what the gentleman decided to do with his time, and he had no wish to see him.
With a sardonic grin, Lawrence told the footman, “If it so pleases Mr. Stallard, he may wait until my master is ready to receive company.” He closed the door.
Darcy had always appreciated Lawrence’s efficiency and attention to detail, but never before had he felt the same conspiratorial friendship toward his manservant as he felt at that moment.
“You do not like Mr. Stallard?” he asked, rising out of the water and donning the robe Lawrence held up.
“May I speak plainly, sir?”
“Has that stopped you today?”
“It has not, and so I will persist. No, I do not like Mr. Stallard nor his daughter, Miss Stallard. She is a conniving sort of lady, even more so than Miss Bingley, and I have a feeling that this visit will not be to your advantage.”
