by Jennifer Joy
Father bolted upright, a pillow tumbling to the floor at his abrupt movement. Rubbing his hand over his face, he said, “Good God. It cannot be.”
Inspector Seymour said, “Ay, but it would appear so. I have hardly begun to tell you the whole of the macabre story, and already, I see you drawing conclusions. My work is complete as soon as you help me capture the man posing as Mr. William Collins.”
If Elizabeth had not been sitting, she would have sunk to the floor. Her arms slumped at her sides, limp as her mind drained her body of its strength in its exertion to understand.
She asked, more to voice her suspicion aloud than to hear it confirmed, “The man we have received as a guest in our home, the man we have called “Cousin,” is not Mr. Collins at all, but a murderer? An impostor?”
Measuring her breaths to appease the nausea in her stomach and calm the thundering of her pulse, she waited for the only answer the inspector could give.
“That is correct, Miss Elizabeth. How clever you are. I will admit that, without the advantage of being able to identify the body — it being too far along in the process of disintegration to allow for it — it took me much longer to draw the same conclusion you so easily did.”
William groaned, but he did not object to the inspector’s directness. He merely said, “Inspector, kindly keep the gruesome details out of your narrative. What we need are the facts. And quickly! This man, this pretender, must not be allowed to cause any more harm than he has done already.”
Elizabeth gripped Father’s hand. “It all makes perfect sense now. He has been attempting to kill you so he may gain possession of Longbourn. He has used every circumstance to his advantage to cast the blame elsewhere.” And he would have succeeded if not for the arrival of Inspector Seymour. Elizabeth gasped as realization smacked her across the face. “I was the one to send him away to London. If not for me, he would be here and an arrest could be made!”
The inspector said, “Now, now, Miss Elizabeth. Do not blame yourself. He has manipulated many others before you. I am certain he devised a plan to depart as soon as he heard I had arrived. I had hoped that in not mentioning his name immediately, he might have grown so confident in himself (as many criminals who get away with their evil plans do), he would stay to observe the dramatic show of his creation. But he is too intelligent for that.”
William asked, “Please, Inspector, tell us what eventually brought you here. My aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, offered Mr. Collins a position at the rectory on her estate. How was this not discovered until now?”
Inspector Seymour nodded gravely. “It was a pretty piece of work, that. To answer, let me go to the beginning. While Mr. Collins was alive at Oxford, he was known for his rigid adherence to decorum. He boasted of never reading a novel, preferring the works of Fordyce — which he read every evening. Mr. Collins took his studies seriously and, while not a favorite among his peers or professors, he graduated with high recommendations. That was how he acquired the position at Hunsford — at the recommendation of a professor to whom Lady Catherine had written regarding the opening. Mr. Collins had not yet graduated, and he had a position worth bragging about. Which he did to anyone who would listen to him about his good fortune.”
“My aunt had never seen Mr. Collins before offering him the position?” William inquired. “There is no one to identify this impostor for a certainty?”
The inspector bunched up his cheeks. “I spoke with the professor of whom she sought a recommendation and his description of Mr. Collins fits the man perfectly. Tall and heavy, with brown hair. I interviewed several people who knew the real Mr. Collins, but each of them described his manners (which could be learned and imitated) more than his physical features. His father, the only relative who could have identified him clearly, had recently passed away and if he possessed a likeness of his son, it was destroyed.”
Father groaned. “His father was a disagreeable miser. He distanced himself from everyone. I am not surprised. I knew he had a son, who he took greedy pleasure in reminding me would eventually inherit Longbourn, but I had not met the son or exchanged letters with him until Mr. Collins wrote to me about four months ago with a request to heal the breach between our families.”
Inspector Seymour nodded. “That is what I have found. Several people knew Mr. Collins, but he had no close friends. And his manners, though perfect, prevented anything more than superficial impressions in those around him. He openly boasted of his inheritance and of his wealthy patroness who had handed him a living others envied on a silver platter. A gentleman with a similar-enough appearance to his own, a man with a mortgaged estate and several debts across the country, overheard.”
“What sort of a monster would kill a man to steal his identity?” Elizabeth had always struggled with her feelings of pity and disgust for Mr. Collins. Now, she knew why. She pitied the slain man, the fool who through his own self-importance, had made himself a target. But even fools deserved to live. She despised the man who had taken his life and nearly taken her father’s on several occasions.
“His real name was difficult to discover. He has changed it many times to avoid arrest. It was not until I discovered his neglected estate that I learned his true identity. Daniel Madden. He has several crimes against him under many different assumed identities from unpaid debts to theft. But this is, by far, his most serious charge. He will hang for the murder of Mr. William Collins.”
Theft? Elizabeth’s heart choked her throat as she hastened to her bedchamber and lifted the board under her bed. Empty.
William stood in her doorway. She hardly knew how to tell him that his mother’s jewels, the emeralds he had lovingly recast as a gift to her, were gone.
Her eyes stung, and she felt silly for crying over stolen jewelry when she ought to be grateful she, her family, and her friends were alive and well.
He embraced her and she whispered into his chest, “He took them, William. They are gone.”
With a final squeeze, he led her by the hand back into Father’s room where Mrs. Hill was telling Inspector Seymour about the occasions when she had felt a room disturbed. They were not surprised when Elizabeth revealed that her emerald jewels had been stolen.
With her free hand, she touched her neck where the necklace had rested against her skin. She had planned to wear them at her wedding.
“I know where he is,” said William, his feet pointing toward the door and his muscles tense with his need to act.
Elizabeth squeezed his hand before letting go. “Be careful, William. He has already killed one man.”
Speaking to Inspector Seymour, he asked, “Are you ready to depart immediately for London?”
“I am.”
“Let us lose no more time.”
The servants rushed to the gentlemen’s aid while the ladies sat in stunned silence in Father’s room. Elizabeth longed to go with William, but she was needed at Longbourn. Father’s shock was great, and Elizabeth saw the guilt in William’s face when he looked at his sister — and nearly crushed her in the tightness with which he embraced her. He had unknowingly placed his dear sister in the same house with a murderer. He met Elizabeth’s eyes and she read his plea. Be safe.
Stepping away from Georgiana, he said, “I will send for Tanner. He will stay with you while I am away. Madden must be apprehended before he can harm us, or anyone else, again.”
Without a care as to who watched, she knew she cared not, he embraced Elizabeth once more. She slid her hands under his coat and wrapped her arms up and around his shoulders, wishing she could hold him to her side where they could fight their enemy together. She did not want to let go, but she forced herself to when Inspector Seymour called for him downstairs.
Cupping her face between his strong hands, William promised, “I will come back for you shortly.”
Father said, “After which you will marry and take her and Miss Darcy far away from this place! I am sorely tempted to beg Mr. Bingley to allow me to stay with him and Jane at Netherfield Par
k. Longbourn will never be the same again, I fear. Not with my wife gone. Not with the taint of Mr. Collins’ murderer in every room.”
Be it the pain causing delirium or the great shock he had suffered, Father had turned as white as the sheets he laid upon. Elizabeth handed him the laudanum tea. It had gone cold, but he did not complain as he drank it in one large gulp.
William turned at the door, one hand on the frame. “Mr. Bennet, I will never doubt you again. Your cousin will be avenged when his killer is captured and brought to justice. I will see to it.”
Elizabeth wished there was someone else he could send — someone who did not carry her every thought and tender emotion with him, leaving her cold and wanting the farther he rode away. But it had to be William. Lady Catherine would not approve of anyone else invading her home to make an arrest as he, no doubt, intended to do. She would toss Inspector Seymour out on his ear were he to attempt such a bold move.
She peeked through the window, hoping to catch one final glimpse of him before he disappeared from view. Georgiana joined her, the girl’s fingers nervously fluttering near her own until her desperation won over and she grasped Elizabeth’s hand, holding onto her for the support William trusted Elizabeth would give her.
“This will be done before we know it,” Elizabeth said aloud, wishing the words true with all of her might.
Mrs. Annesley stood on Georgiana’s other side, lending her strength. To Elizabeth’s surprise, Lydia stood beside her. She set Chloe on the floor and looped her arm around Elizabeth’s waist, resting her head against Elizabeth’s shoulder.
“When I marry the next Prime Minister, I will have him assign guards with tall bearskins and red coats to stand guard in front of my home and the homes of my sisters,” said Lydia.
Elizabeth rested her cheek against Lydia’s hair. “Until then, I fear Chloe will have to do.”
Leaping on Father’s bed, Chloe found her usual spot beside him and settled into it, resting her chin on top of his chest and looking about the room.
“She is smarter than the rest of us,” admitted Lydia. “You have no idea how many times I had to hold her back to prevent her from biting that dreadful man. Were it not for her, I fear we would have been murdered in our beds!”
Georgiana said, “We are fortunate to have her then. And Mr. Tanner.”
“He is on his way here,” said Mrs. Annesley, peering through the glass window. “Let us go to the parlor to receive him. He will need our cooperation.”
They filed out of Father’s room to the sound of his gentle snores, leaving Thomas to sit with him until Elizabeth or Lydia returned. He was safe. For now.
Chapter 31
Darcy pushed his horse harder, trusting Inspector Seymour to keep up with their pounding gallop.
His worst fear had been confirmed at the stables in the next village along the road to London beyond Meryton. Mr. Madden had ditched the slower carriage in favor of the quickest horse available, putting them at a disadvantage. The villain could be arriving at de Bourgh House at any moment.
The road was clear and the weather held, favorable conditions for which Darcy praised the heavens.
Pressing on, he sensed the weariness of his mount. He would have to change horses at the next stable, another ten minutes at their current pace by his calculations. Easing up slightly so as not to cause injury to his horse, he looked under his arm to see Inspector Seymour several paces behind them. They would canter until he caught up, then continue. There was no time to lose.
Straightening up and looking forward as the inspector joined them, Darcy gathered the reins firmly between his hands and was about to press his heels against the sides of his horse when they jolted forward. He kept his seat, but only barely.
The horse righted itself as Darcy did, but his mount’s smooth gait was marred with a notable limp.
“Gone lame, has he?” asked Inspector Seymour.
Darcy’s jaw ached. He had left his groom behind, not wanting to wait another moment for him to ready a horse. Through his clenched teeth, he hissed, “I will take him to the nearest stable and join you as quickly as I can. It will take a miracle for my aunt to admit you into her home without me, but you must try.”
“I can trade places with you, Mr. Darcy,” he suggested, to be followed by a disappointed, “If only you knew where to go to summon the men I need to arrest Mr. Madden. I dare not go alone. He has escaped me too many times to go without help.”
“No, you must go. It is best. If Lady Catherine refuses to see you, go to Lord Harvisham. His home, like my aunt’s, is in Grosvenor Square. He will help you in my absence.”
“De Bourgh House, then Lord Harvisham if the lady of the house gives me trouble. All right, Mr. Darcy. Maybe the lady will be more agreeable when I show up with the constable and a few other men.”
Darcy doubted that, but voicing his opinion would do nothing to change the results, so he held his peace and continued walking toward the village as Inspector Seymour continued at a much faster clip down the abandoned road.
A fortune for a healthy mount, Darcy thought as the minutes and miles crawled by without any passersby with whom to make an exchange.
Three hours later, as darkness shrouded the city, Darcy arrived at de Bourgh House to a disheartening sight. Inspector Seymour and two other men sat on the steps leading up to Aunt Catherine’s front door. Their posture admitted defeat, but their continued presence marked their determination.
“Where is Lord Harvisham?” Darcy asked, handing the reins over to Aunt’s groom and requesting he acquire a fresh mount should Mr. Madden attempt an escape.
Inspector Seymour stood, brushing his hands on his trousers. “He is inside. A dinner guest. I attempted to bribe the doorman to summon the gentleman, but he refused, fearing his mistress’ reaction more than my threat of her housing a cold-blooded murderer. He has not opened the door since, no doubt fearing I would attempt to push past him.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Of course, he would be right to assume so.”
“What else has been done? Is Madden inside?” asked Darcy.
“He is, however, as we do not have permission to enter the property, I stationed two of my other men at the sides of the house on the chance Mr. Madden attempts to escape.”
Darcy shook his head and sighed, climbing up the steps. “She will not refuse her own nephew. Stay here until I gain entry.”
The door did not open when Darcy reached the top, so he knocked. The doorman must believe he was the inspector. The glazed glass in the center of the door distorted his view.
“I have been ordered to admit no one,” the doorman said in a nasal voice through the glass. Darcy could see his figure and knew the man was close enough to determine who he was. Maybe his vision faltered.
“I am Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy, Lady Catherine de Bourgh’s nephew,” he said confidently.
“I was told specifically not to admit you, sir,” the doorman scoffed.
Darcy did not appreciate the man’s tone. Only Aunt Catherine would surround herself with snobs to worship her to the scorn of everyone else. Darcy tightened his fist, ready to beat the door down.
“I am sorry,” said the doorman, sounding anything but sincere. “My obligation is to her ladyship.”
Aghast at his aunt’s stupidity and angrier than he could recall ever feeling, Darcy bellowed, “Do you not realize the danger her ladyship is in? Would you have her murdered in her own home?”
“Orders are orders.” That said, the servant stepped away from the glass, raising his hand to his mouth to stifle a bored yawn.
“We will see about that,” Darcy said, already half-way down the steps.
The servants in the stables were much more agreeable. Darcy learned that Mr. Madden had not departed from the house since his arrival hours before, nor had he requested a horse.
“Mr. Darcy, I can get a message to Lord Harvisham if you will guarantee my post,” offered the stable boy, dressed in full livery. “I can go through the kitchen and ask M
rs. Meyers to send for him. She is reasonable.”
Darcy would not have described the housekeeper as reasonable. Harsh, unbending, and as haughty as the doorman, perhaps, but certainly not reasonable. Still, it was their best option aside from going to the local magistrate, which would take too long.
Minutes later, Lord Harvisham appeared at the front door, the annoyed doorman pulling snuff from the tin he extracted from his pocket and pretending not to listen in on their conversation.
“Darcy! What is this about?” Lord Harvisham asked, concern furrowing his eyebrows as he saw who accompanied Darcy.
“Is Mr. Collins inside?”
“He is.”
Relief flooded through Darcy, but now was not the time to let his guard down. They must act quickly. He felt the inspector’s men pressing in around him, eager to storm de Bourgh House to make an arrest.
“Good. I will explain everything in detail later, but right now, all you need to know is that Mr. Collins is not who he claims to be. He is an impostor and a murderer, and we must apprehend him before he strikes again.”
The expression on Lord Harvisham’s face turned Darcy’s feet to lead. He stood, frozen in place, bracing himself for the bad news.
Without a word to him, Lord Harvisham called a footman over. “I want you to go to Mr. Collins’ room. See if he is there. Enter the chambers if you must. Then, return to me immediately.”
The footman hesitated.
Lord Harvisham added, “Her ladyship will consider doing a favor for me as a personal favor to her. She will praise your foresight when you assist us in our criminal investigation and her household is credited with the arrest of a dangerous man. Now, go.”
Darcy’s unease grew as Lord Harvisham explained, “He retired to his room directly after dinner, complaining of fatigue from his journey. Lady Catherine was all too happy to have him retire, her purpose in inviting me here this evening being the pursuit of information regarding the case against her.”
