by Jennifer Joy
"You heard me correctly." Mr. Stallard relaxed his hands against the arm of his chair, smiling as if he had already won.
"What makes you think I would agree to your scheme?" Darcy asked. Not even a guilty verdict would convince him to marry Miss Stallard. There was only one lady who could possibly tempt him… and she did not want him.
Mr. Stallard's fists clenched. "I will be honest with you. I believe we can be of mutual assistance to each other. If you do as I bid and marry my daughter, I can ensure you are not sent to trial. My daughter is handsome and, generally, of a cooperative disposition. She will do you credit in society, and she will add to your coffers with her dowry and inheritance."
Darcy cringed in distaste. "I do not need your money."
"I am pleased to hear it. However, I would wager that you value your life greatly. Your life and an unblemished reputation is what I am offering you. You are hardly in a position to argue or negotiate, though you must see how generous my offer is, the benefits to you being far superior than those you can reciprocate."
"You take advantage of my circumstances, sir," said Darcy, knowing that Mr. Stallard would not want to depart without a guarantee, but being unwilling to give it.
"Be that as it may, it is my dearest wish to see my daughter married well."
"You consider it advantageous for her to marry a man accused of one of the worst crimes known to humankind? You must be thoroughly convinced of my innocence or else you would never consider me for your own daughter. If your conviction is so strong, why am I here under arrest when you could free me this moment? Where is your honor, sir?"
Mr. Stallard laughed. "And risk you leaving without first securing my daughter's future? No, Mr. Darcy, I am not a fool, and I will not lose out on the opportunity presented to me by acting prematurely."
So much for honor. It had been worth a try. "What makes you think Miss Stallard will accept me?"
"She will accept you because I require it of her," Mr. Stallard replied firmly, his eyes hardening.
A chill settled over Darcy. At that moment, Darcy could imagine Mr. Stallard capable of killing a man to suit his wishes. He needed to keep him talking. He needed to learn what he could before Mr. Stallard left.
"You said you would be honest with me, Mr. Stallard, and yet, I do not think you are being entirely truthful. What is your motive in choosing me when Miss Stallard is fully capable of selecting a gentleman to marry of her own choosing?”
Mr. Stallard pressed his white knuckles into the padding of his chair. "This in no way undermines my offer. In fact, it only serves to strengthen it." He paused, his forehead furled for some time before he spoke again. Darcy watched him struggle in silence, taking comfort in the human emotions passing over Mr. Stallard’s face.
"My daughter had planned an elopement with Mr. Wickham. I heard of it and, for reasons obvious to gentlemen of our station, I forbade it."
Darcy's pulse quickened. "When did you discover this?"
"The day before the Netherfield Ball," Mr. Stallard answered dryly.
Wickham had only been in Meryton for a week. That was quick work even for him. Unless…
"Wickham's choosing to come to Meryton was no accident, was it?" he ventured, hoping Mr. Stallard would fill in more details.
"No.”
“Did he follow her here from Ramsgate?”
A picture formed in Darcy’s mind, but he needed a few more details. If his suspicions were correct, Wickham had been a far worse cad than Darcy had thought him. And that was saying much! It also meant that Mr. Stallard benefited from Wickham’s death. It meant he was not fit to serve as the magistrate in this case.
As if he could read Darcy’s thoughts, Mr. Stallard pinched his lips together and glared at Darcy. “You ask a lot of questions.”
“Can you fault me for it when it is my life at risk?” Leaning forward, Darcy narrowed his vision to see only Mr. Stallard’s reaction when he said, “I will see Wickham’s murderer brought to justice.”
Mr. Stallard sat like a stone statue for all the lack of emotion Darcy observed. He revealed nothing. They sat thus, locked in a stalemate, neither gentleman willing to bend before the other.
“I must say I am deeply disappointed in you, Mr. Darcy. I had thought you would be far more reasonable.”
Insults were nothing when pronounced by a man undeserving of his good opinion. If the best argument he could come up with was to cut the man he sought to blackmail, then Darcy had gained the upper hand. He would not waste it.
Never wavering in his gaze, Darcy asked, “You refuse to give an answer?”
“I do.”
“Then, I refuse to marry your daughter.”
Mr. Stallard gripped the arms of his chair so tightly, Darcy expected to hear the wood crack. His pulse, visible to Darcy’s eye, pounded at his temples. He rose stiffly to take his leave, bowing to signal his departure, but no words crossed his lips.
Darcy was left to ponder to what lengths a father would go to protect the interests of his only daughter, as well as the dire consequences to himself if his suspicions proved to be true.
Lydia huffed. "Well, I never did like Miss Stallard anyway. She is so stuffy and gives herself airs."
"But that is hardly reason enough to commit murder," said Elizabeth, in her way acknowledging and agreeing with Lydia's assessment of Miss Stallard's character. She was worse than Miss Bingley in that regard, though Miss Bingley was more assertive in others.
"Surely, Aunt would not imply such a thing unless she had a solid basis for doing so," said Mary, looking at Aunt Philips in an effort to seek more information without asking for it outright (for that would have been sinful). She was every bit as bad as Aunt Philips and Mother in her thirst for gossip, but Elizabeth was grateful for it. Otherwise, she would have had to ask, and she was always getting chastised for being too inquisitive.
Happily, Aunt obliged, "Oh, I have it from the best of sources, my dears, but I will only tell you in the strictest of confidence." She continued before anyone could utter a word to the contrary. "You see, Miss Stallard's lady's maid is on good terms with my maid, and she told her the most interesting thing." She paused, rubbing her hands together.
These moments of revelation must have brought Aunt great joy and purpose in life. She relished in them, trying Elizabeth’s patience and making the wait all the more excruciating.
Finally, Aunt spoke, beginning slowly and dramatically. "As you know, Miss Stallard spent the summer with Lady Pepperwick in Ramsgate."
Lydia huffed and slumped in her chair. "How I should like to spend a summer in Ramsgate! It is dreadfully unfair we do not get to go anywhere."
Aunt continued, "Who do you think she met whilst at Ramsgate but Mr. Wickham?"
Gasps echoed throughout the room. "Our Lieutenant George Wickham?" asked Lydia.
"One and the same. Evidently, they formed an attachment." Aunt pursed her lips and nodded with raised eyebrows.
"They were engaged?" asked Kitty.
"What did Mr. Stallard think of the attachment?" Elizabeth asked, though she knew the answer.
"He was furious, of course. He sent for Miss Stallard and insisted she return directly. Surely, she should have known he would not approve of the arrangement. I have no doubts but that she and Mr. Wickham had planned to elope."
Elizabeth held her breath to keep from breathing too fast. If Miss Stallard had been willing to elope with Mr. Wickham, and Mr. Wickham had followed her to Meryton, Mr. Stallard would have done anything to protect his daughter from marrying a gentleman he considered beneath them.
Would he go so far as to kill? If bloodshed meant that each of her daughters was guaranteed a good match, Elizabeth had no doubt but that her own mother would consider it a viable option. What about Mr. Stallard?
As she arranged the facts along with this recent knowledge, Elizabeth’s realization turned her cold. Mr. Stallard was the magistrate. If he murdered Mr. Wickham, then he would do nothing to prevent Mr. Darcy from
hanging, thus throwing all hint of suspicion off himself. She rubbed her arms against the chill overwhelming her.
"My inclination on hearing your account is to suppose Mr. Stallard is more involved than Miss Stallard. Why do you presume it was a woman who killed Mr. Wickham?" asked Mrs. Yeats.
Aunt smiled, one eyebrow arching higher than the other. "I saw for myself how Mr. Wickham taught Miss Stallard how to shoot his pistol. She must have been an excellent pupil."
Lydia pouted. "He never taught me how to shoot."
Really? That was all Lydia could think of, as if denying her pleasure was more important than the man's murder?
"Mr. Denny showed me," said Kitty triumphantly. "Do not be so cross, Lydia. It is not as diverting as it sounds. It is heavy and awkward to hold up. I missed the target in the hay and hit the ground in front of it. I smelled the burned powder for hours afterward, and I had no desire to try it more than once."
“I should hope not, Miss Kitty. That was highly improper,” reprimanded Mrs. Yeats.
"It was not so heavy you could not hold it up, though, was it Kitty?" asked Aunt, more concerned in proving her theory than in scolding her niece for her breach in propriety.
With a nervous glance at Mrs. Yeats, Kitty answered, "I suppose not. If Mr. Denny had not been teaching me the different parts of the pistol and what they do, I should have been able to hold it steadier in a shorter period of time. It was very educational."
Mrs. Yeats did not appear impressed.
Aunt nodded contentedly. "And there it is, my dears. Miss Stallard knew how to shoot the weapon, and if she felt that Mr. Wickham had crossed her somehow, she had the motive to kill him. She is of the jealous sort and accustomed to getting her way. And there is the convenient detail of her dress at the Netherfield Ball. She could have returned, but she did not."
Could she have done it? Elizabeth would not eliminate any possibility until she found out who was responsible, though her suspicions were more strongly settled on Mr. Stallard.
She had to find some way of warning Mr. Darcy. If either of the Stallards were involved, he stood to take the fall.
She looked about the room, pondering how best to manage an interview with Mr. Darcy without causing more scandal.
Mr. Collins pinched his chin, deep in thought. Of course!
Addressing him, she said, “Mr. Collins, I am interested in hearing your opinion on the value of this information in regards to Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s nephew. Would you consider it inappropriate to reveal the topic of our discussion with him if it meant that he could be proved innocent?” Elizabeth held her breath.
Mrs. Yeats interjected. “You must first get permission from the source. Mrs. Philips related this account to us in strict confidence.”
Everyone looked at Aunt Philips, who sat like a queen on her throne. Resting her fists on the arms of her chair, as if holding a scepter, she said, “Thank you, Mrs. Yeats. You are quite right, of course, and had I not been interrupted, I would have suggested precisely what my niece has done.”
Mr. Collins rose from his chair. “How insightful of you, Mrs. Philips. I am certain a man as discreet as Mr. Darcy can be entrusted with these details, especially when I tell him from which source they came.” He added a smile to his compliment to Aunt Philips, who was all too pleased to receive it.
“I have not called on Mrs. Forster in some days,” commented Lydia. “I have hopes she will invite me to go with her and Colonel Forster when they return to Brighton in the warmer months.”
Elizabeth would make sure that never happened! But calling on Mrs. Forster would put her in the way of Mr. Darcy— especially if Mr. Collins requested an audience with him. That, she would not discourage.
Chapter 19
"I feel ill from the heat in Aunt's drawing room," said Jane, her cheeks flushed.
Mrs. Yeats agreed. "Such extremes of hot and cold cannot be healthy for the organism. Perhaps a walk in the cool air will help you feel better?"
"I will go with you," offered Kitty, her gaze sweeping over the empty streets.
Lydia rolled her eyes. "You only hope to see Mr. Denny again. Really, Kitty, if you do not vary in your flirtations, you will be stuck with him."
Kitty did not look as if she minded that much. Elizabeth was uncertain. She was unconvinced Mr. Denny did not know anything about Mr. Wickham's murder. She did not want Kitty seeking out his company until she knew more.
She cast Jane a pleading look, but it was Mrs. Yeats who understood her concern.
"Mr. Collins," said Mrs. Yeats, "since it is your desire to call on Mr. Darcy, perhaps you might accompany Miss Lydia and Miss Elizabeth while they call on Mrs. Forster? I will stay with Miss Bennet to ensure she does not fall ill, and Miss Kitty and Miss Mary shall keep us company."
"What an excellent idea, Mrs. Yeats. I could not very well leave Cousin Jane whilst she is unwell, but duty demands I call on Mr. Darcy and Colonel Forster," Mr. Collins bowed incessantly until Mrs. Yeats led her sisters away, one arm protectively looped through Jane's to hold her steady.
Elizabeth crossed the street with Mr. Collins and Lydia in the direction of Colonel Forster's temporary dwelling, a leased house within a comfortable walking distance to the regiment’s tents.
She slowed when she saw Mr. Stallard's tall figure leaving the Forster's residence. He walked stiffly, looking about him as if he did not wish to be seen.
"Good morning, Mr. Stallard," called Mr. Collins when the gentleman turned his back to walk in the opposite direction.
Mr. Stallard’s shoulders hunched up to his ears, and he turned around. With a stiff bow, Mr. Stallard greeted them. "You must excuse me. I fear I am late for an appointment and must be on my way. Good day to you," he said with another bow.
He walked away from them in a hurried clip, as was appropriate of a gentleman running late for an appointment. His manners, however, were tense and only added credibility to Aunt Philips' suspicions.
What did Mr. Stallard know about Mr. Wickham's murder? Was he somehow involved? Did he seek to protect his daughter? Was he so despicable as to let Mr. Darcy take the blame?
They were led into the front parlor to await the Forsters.
Being the first one to enter, Elizabeth felt the tension in the room. And she saw him before he could compose himself. Mr. Darcy stood with his elbow propped against the fireplace mantel, his hand buried in his hair. He immediately straightened his posture and lowered his hand, leaving his hair stylishly disheveled. One second later, he had replaced the worry lining his face with a cool mask of calm self-assurance. But she had seen him. She had felt his vulnerability, and her heart ached for him.
If she did not know their compromise to be highly disagreeable to him, she would gladly admit to it to alleviate his anxiety. But he did not want her. Not that she wanted him, she told herself. However, she held his life in her hands and this knowledge brought a great amount of responsibility with it. She did respect him. And she trusted him. How could she not when he so clearly trusted her?
Mr. Collins exchanged enough pleasantries to satisfy their entire group. Lydia ignored them to walk about the room, fully aware that her flirtations were lost on Mr. Darcy and showing thus by her absence of smiles and head-tosses.
Before the purpose of their visit could be stated, the Forsters joined them. Elizabeth went through the motions of greeting them, but it was Mr. Darcy who had captivated her attention with the intimate glimpse he had not meant to give her into his heart. She would not abuse it. Not when she could sense his embarrassment at her having seen it.
Elizabeth compelled herself to look away from him. Shaking her head and clearing her thoughts, she said, "Colonel, we came directly to you from my aunt Philips' home. We are in possession of some information pertaining to Mr. Darcy."
Mr. Collins interrupted her. "Yes, it is our intention to share what we heard in the hopes of being of some assistance."
Lydia, not interested in the least, took Mrs. Forster by the hands. "Please
save me from their dull conversation, Mrs. Forster. I have heard of little else these past days, and I would much rather speak of the parties you have attended and of Brighton. I have not spent much time on the coast," she pouted.
Mrs. Forster, who was not much older than Lydia, looked equally pleased to escape the tedious conversation of the older people in the parlor. They walked arm-in-arm to the opposite side of the room, whispering and giggling like girls.
Elizabeth wondered what advantages an older man with heavy responsibilities like Colonel Forster saw in marrying such a young wife who, like Lydia, lived for parties and social activities. Perhaps it was the lightness she brought to their union….
“My love, if there is anything you or your guest require, you must let me attend to you,” said the colonel with a warm smile at his wife.
He was rewarded with an equally devoted smile.
“This business has been a hardship for Mrs. Forster, but she bears it expertly,” he said in admiration.
Turning to her, he asked, "Miss Elizabeth, would you not feel more comfortable with the ladies?"
She looked over at Lydia and Mrs. Forster whispering and giggling to each other and knew she would certainly not feel comfortable with them, nor did she trust Mr. Collins not to lose the main points of their reason for calling in his deluge of words.
Mr. Darcy spoke before she could answer. "Colonel Forster, Mr. Collins, I should very much like for Miss Elizabeth to stay with us. As a female, she is naturally gifted with certain perceptions and opinions which a male would not consider, or worse, overlook as unimportant."
Never one to contradict a nephew of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, Mr. Collins said, “How insightful of you, Mr. Darcy, to see the natural delicacies of a member of the opposite sex as a strength. I daresay you are correct in thinking so. Were her ladyship here, I have no doubt but that she would see justice served within a se’nnight.” For the benefit of Colonel Forster, who had not yet had the privilege of hearing Lady Catherine’s praises sung, he added, “Her ladyship, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, possesses such a cunning mind, it is of no surprise her blood relation should see what an average mind does not. It never would have occurred to me to allow a woman to contribute to our conversation, but being thus put to us, I see no other way but to permit my dear cousin to stay.”
