Murder at Netherfield Page 18

  “It seems there is little enough upon which to base a suspicion of foul play, Darcy,” said Fitzwilliam. “Any investigator worth his salt would terminate his inquiries with so little on which to base his suspicions.”

  “I know,” said Darcy. “But something tells me there is something more happening.” Darcy paused for a moment, considering whether he should speak of Miss Bennet when he decided his cousin was more adept at such matters as this. “Miss Bennet suspects Miss Bingley.”

  “She does?” asked Fitzwilliam, his interest suddenly roused. “And why does the intrepid Miss Elizabeth believe that Miss Bingley is depraved enough to murder our aunt?”

  “Because Lady Catherine berated Miss Bingley when she discovered the woman’s interest in me over the years. Furthermore, Miss Bingley was angry when Lady Catherine informed her that she was not at my level of society.”

  Fitzwilliam snorted. “If you base an accusation of murder on the ability to offend, then we are all suspects. Lady Catherine has offended everyone in this house multiple times since we were trapped here.”

  “Perhaps I overstated the matter,” said Darcy, feeling it incumbent upon him to defend Miss Elizabeth. “She suggested it as a possibility, one which fit the facts we know. But she is aware of the paucity of evidence. I will say, however, that Miss Bingley was as offended as I have ever seen her. If she thought her position in society, such as it is, was threatened, I have no idea how she would respond.”

  “And what of the butler?”

  Darcy spread his arms out in a gesture of defeat. “That is the problem. There seems to be no connection between them. If Miss Bingley did murder Lady Catherine in a fit of anger, then why did she murder the butler? Unless you believe that she was somehow incensed with him too—and there has been no sign of it—then Miss Bingley as the murderer seems problematic at best.” Darcy paused. “If I am honest, I do not suspect Miss Bingley. I rather think Wickham is capable of it.”

  The derision with which Fitzwilliam greeted Darcy’s suggestion was pointed, and his cousin did not hold back. “Wickham is a coward, along with all his other faults. But I have no notion he could be considered a suspect. Furthermore, he was not even present the night the butler died.”

  “Perhaps he was loitering nearby or hiding in the stables? His story of being sent by Colonel Forster has never sat well with me.”

  “You still have a problem with motive—I know of no reason why Wickham would kill the butler, of all people. And what could he gain from killing Lady Catherine?”

  “Access to Anne?”

  “Poor Wickham,” mocked Fitzwilliam. “The idea of Lady Catherine as a mother-in-law was enough to drive him to murder.”

  Darcy only spread his hands. The whole suggestion was thin and did not make a lot of sense—of this, he was well aware. But at this point, there was no further information available to make a judgment.

  “Much though I despise Wickham,” said Fitzwilliam, “I do not think he is at fault in this instance. It is impossible to link the two deaths together. At this time, based on the information we have available, it seems we have no choice but to conclude it was a tragic accident and the sudden death of an elderly woman. The timing must have been entirely coincidental.”

  “I know that is the sensible conclusion, Fitzwilliam,” said Darcy. “But I hope you will forgive me if I remain watchful.”

  Fitzwilliam barked a laugh. “You assume I will not? Regardless of what makes sense, I, too, will be watchful.

  “But I am much more interested in speaking of Miss Elizabeth.” Darcy looked away, not wishing to be teased, which, of course, spurred his cousin on. “I know, from reading between the lines, that Miss Elizabeth accompanied you on your fact-finding mission to Lady Catherine’s room. It seems to me you are becoming rather cozy with that young woman.”

  “Did you not inform me that if I did not claim her that you would?

  Fitzwilliam’s eyes widened, and he reached over and slapped Darcy on the back. “I did not think you would act so quickly. Good for you, Cousin!”

  “I have not proceeded any further than simply attempting to come to know her better. But I believe I am set on my course. She is everything I would ever wish for in a wife.”

  “I am certain she is. I believe she would be good for you, old man. She is lively enough to draw you from your reticence, and I have no doubt she would keep you busy.”

  “She would at that. I have already received the talk from Mr. Bennet.”

  Fitzwilliam guffawed again. “I cannot quite make Mr. Bennet out. He is an intelligent man, but he is also an odd one.”

  “I know it, Cousin.” Darcy paused, turning his thoughts back toward Miss Elizabeth—a more agreeable subject, indeed. “She is also intelligent, and I think I could do much worse than to marry an intelligent woman, even if she has little dowry.”

  “It is not as if Pemberley is failing. You are well able to withstand the lack of a dowry.”

  An absent nod was Darcy’s response. “The more time I am in her company, the more surety I obtain of the rightness of my course. At first, I thought it was infatuation.”

  “You have never been infatuated in your life,” replied Fitzwilliam, snorting at the very thought. “You are far too rational for infatuation.”

  “Then I must conclude that my feelings for Miss Bennet are growing and that they extend far deeper than infatuation. It is impossible to court her properly while we are stranded in this house. But once we can leave, and the situation returns to normal—”

  “And once the battle axe has been laid to rest.”

  Darcy nodded, even as he rolled his eyes at Fitzwilliam’s words concerning Lady Catherine. “Yes, after that, I will make certain she understands my feelings.”

  “I wish you luck, Cousin. You deserve to be happy with a good woman. Miss Elizabeth might just be the making of you.”

  “I believe she might,” murmured Darcy.

  In another part of the house, something of a more serious nature was occurring. Since that morning with Mr. Darcy in Lady Catherine’s room, Elizabeth had hardly been able to pull her thoughts from the gentleman, and as she had grown tired of her father’s knowing looks, she had decided to walk the halls for a time and think. Even Jane knew something of Elizabeth’s growing feelings, at least when she could pull her thoughts away from Mr. Bingley.

  There was a situation which brought Elizabeth pleasure. Mr. Bingley’s general inattentiveness to the rest of the company when in Jane’s presence was the very essence of a man in love. Miss Bingley was clearly displeased with what she was seeing—and Mrs. Hurst was little better—but there was little they could do at present. Elizabeth thought their entreaties to their brother would begin when the Bennets were finally able to depart. By now, however, she thought Mr. Bingley’s inclination enough to withstand the machinations of his sisters, and as he would have Mr. Darcy’s support, she felt all would end well.

  Mr. Darcy! What an intriguing man! Could she love him, marry him, when she had initially discounted him as proud and above his company? Elizabeth was not certain, but she was beginning to think it would be an adventure to discover. It was a circumstance which was not welcome to Miss Bingley. The woman had glared at her all morning after she and Mr. Darcy had returned to the sitting-room, though Elizabeth was grateful she had not said anything.

  A giggle caught Elizabeth’s attention as she was walking, pulling her up short. She might have thought it was nothing more than a maid flirting with a footman. But she heard it again. She had heard that giggle enough times to know exactly who it was.

  “Lydia!” cried Elizabeth, though keeping her voice quiet so she did not attract attention. She pushed the door to a small office open, watching as her sister jumped back from the man with whom she had been flirting. Luckily, it appeared she had not been in his arms.

  “Miss Elizabeth!” greeted Mr. Wickham, his tone brimming with ebullience and good cheer. “How fortunate you
have come upon us. Your sister was telling me the most amusing story, something about a bonnet and a pool of water?”

  Elizabeth glared at the libertine. His manners suggested he did not realize she had caught him in a compromising position with her youngest sister! For her part, Lydia was laughing and looking up at Mr. Wickham, admiration alive in her eyes, though at least she was a proper distance from him now.

  “It was ever so amusing, Mr. Wickham,” said Lydia. “You see—”

  “That is enough, Lydia!” Elizabeth’s voice cracked like a whip, and even her senseless sister seemed to understand that Elizabeth was highly displeased. Mr. Wickham, for his part, seemed amused he had provoked a response in her and only watched, hilarity alive on his countenance.

  “What do you think you are doing?” demanded Elizabeth, ignoring the officer for the present.

  “Just a bit of fun with Mr. Wickham,” said Lydia, waving any concerns Elizabeth might have had away as if they were unreasonable. “Mr. Wickham is so amusing and interesting. He has had many experiences in his life, and he was telling me about them.”

  “It seems to me you were telling him stories, not to mention flirting in a manner highly inappropriate.”

  “Oh, Lizzy! You sound just like Mary. I was only having fun!”

  “Nothing inappropriate occurred, Miss Elizabeth,” added Mr. Wickham.

  Elizabeth rounded on the disgusting man. “My sister, at least, has an excuse, inadequate though it is. I would not expect much more from such a silly, empty-headed girl as she.” Lydia let out a squawk of protest, but Elizabeth ignored her. “But you, sir, are a man full grown and should know better.”

  A mournful expression came over him. “If you recall, Miss Elizabeth, I informed you of my unguarded temper. At times it leads me to behave in a manner which is not precisely proper. You have my apologies.”

  “If I thought your apologies were not worthless in every way, I might accept them.”

  Mr. Wickham’s eyes glittered, though Elizabeth thought it was amusement rather than anger. Lydia, however, was quite seriously displeased.

  “Lizzy! How can you say such things to Mr. Wickham?”

  “No, Miss Lydia,” said Mr. Wickham. “I will not be the reason for strife between sisters. I shall take my leave now.”

  With a bow, Mr. Wickham quit the room. Elizabeth turned on her stupid sister and hissed: “You stay where you are until I return.”

  Then she darted from the room in pursuit of Mr. Wickham, calling out to him. He turned and regarded her, a smirk forming. Likely the cad thought he had managed to charm her, as evidenced by what he said when he turned.

  “You do not need to apologize to me, Miss Elizabeth. I acknowledge you were correct in every particular.”

  “I did not come here to apologize, and if you believed for a moment I did, then you are a simpleton.”

  “Then why did you chase me?”

  “To warn you.” Mr. Wickham chose amusement at Elizabeth’s statement, but by now, she had no more patience for this man. “I know what you are, Mr. Wickham. Mr. Darcy has informed me exactly what kind of man you are.”

  “And you believed him?” Mr. Wickham snorted in disdain. “Why should you not believe my account as easily as you did Darcy’s?” Mr. Wickham sauntered toward her, raking her form with his eyes from her head to her toes. “I am much more of a man than he will ever be if that is what you want. Or is it because he possesses riches uncounted?”

  “It is because he is a gentleman, both in comportment and standing, Mr. Wickham. Your behavior betrays you as the libertine you are.”

  “You know nothing of me.”

  “I know far more than I ever wish to know. I suggest you stay away from all my sisters, Mr. Wickham. If you think Mr. Darcy will not listen to me when I inform him of your activities and act against you, then you are more of a simpleton than I would ever have imagined.”

  “That sounds very much like a threat, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “It most assuredly was. Stay away from my sisters!”

  Then with one final imperious glare, Elizabeth turned away and entered the room in which her sister waited. Except that Lydia had come to the door and had watched their confrontation, her mouth hanging wide, eyes open at the scene. Elizabeth took the simple expedient of guiding her wild sister back into the room, closing the door behind her, and then whirling on Lydia once again.

  “You ignorant, childish, stupid, thoughtless girl! Were you not told that Mr. Wickham is a bad man and to stay away from him? And yet I find you, alone in a room with him, flirting as if you were nothing more than a woman of the night!”

  Lydia gasped. “Lizzy! How dare you say such things to me!”

  “I dare because you deserve it! If I had not come upon you when I did, what other foolishness would have ensued? Are you so lost to decency, so stupid that you would throw your life away on a man who will use you and discard you as if you are nothing more than an old pair of boots? What can you be thinking?”

  It was the first time Elizabeth had ever spoken to her sister in such a forceful manner, though she had reprimanded Lydia aplenty. The girl was struck speechless, her mouth working, but no words issuing forth.

  “What do you think might have happened had it been one of the servants who discovered you?” demanded Elizabeth, deciding not to allow her sister to regain her wits. “Do you even have room for such rational thoughts in your empty head?”

  This time Lydia scowled. “What is it to you?”

  “It is plenty to me” yelled Elizabeth, causing Lydia to jump at her tone. “You are not so foolish as this, Lydia. You are ungovernable, not completely senseless. You are well aware that what one sister does can affect the others. If you are fallen, we all are fallen. Now, I ask you again, what might have happened had a servant discovered you, a young girl, alone in a room with a man?”

  “I suppose I might have been made to marry him,” was Lydia’s reply.

  “Exactly. Papa would have had no choice but to protect the reputations of the rest of his daughters and insist Mr. Wickham marry you. Even then, we would not have escaped without censure. But at least we would have maintained most of our respectability. Do you wish to ruin your sisters’ prospects forever?”

  “Of course not!” exclaimed Lydia. “It is only . . .”

  “What?” asked Elizabeth when her sister’s voice trailed off.

  Lydia blushed and looked away. When she did not immediately reply, Elizabeth began tapping her foot in impatience. Her sister caught sight of it and sighed, turning back to Elizabeth.

  “I have always thought it would be a great joke if I, the youngest, were married before any of my sisters.”

  “Perhaps you should think of what your life would be should you marry a man such as Mr. Wickham.”

  Confused, Lydia said: “What do you mean?”

  Praying for patience, Elizabeth directed her sister to sit on a nearby chair. “Lydia, sooner or later everyone needs to grow and mature and behave like an adult. I know you are yet fifteen, but as you are already out in society, you must consider the ramifications of your actions before you charge into any situation. What do you know of Mr. Wickham?”

  “He is a handsome and amiable man,” replied Lydia with a frown. “What more could a woman want in a husband?”

  “How about a man who has the means to support her and any children they might have?” Lydia’s eyes widened. “Do you think Mr. Wickham has any money? My understanding is that he has just joined the militia. Officers are not wealthy men, Lydia, and as Mr. Wickham is the son of old Mr. Darcy’s steward, he has no one to support him.”

  It was clear Lydia was astonished. “But—but he told me he had powerful and wealthy friends.”

  “Did he tell you that, or did he infer it and allow you to make your own conclusions?”

  Lydia’s frown deepened. “I . . . No . . . I do not know.”

  “He has misled you, Lydia, and he has
done it without telling an overt falsehood. In fact, he is a wastrel, a gamester, and a debtor. He has little of his own and has spent his entire life attempting to extort money from Mr. Darcy.”

  “He told me Mr. Darcy cheated him!” exclaimed Lydia.

  “He lied. Mr. Darcy gave him what he was due—more than he was due. And when he wasted it all, he returned for more. He has left debts in many places, which Mr. Darcy has settled, and even after all that, has betrayed Mr. Darcy most cruelly?”

  “How?” asked Lydia, seemingly bewildered.

  “I am sorry, Lydia, but I have not been authorized to speak of it. You must trust me.”

  The mutinous glint which Elizabeth had often seen in her sister’s eyes returned. “And why should I trust you? You have your account from Mr. Darcy. What makes him any more believable than Mr. Wickham?”

  “Because he is a man of good character. He has offered the colonel, among others, as corroborating witnesses.”

  Lydia scoffed. “Colonel Fitzwilliam is Mr. Darcy’s cousin. Of course, he will support his cousin!”

  “Not if his cousin is not telling the truth—a good man will not allow his principles to be compromised for nothing more than family. Furthermore, Mr. Darcy has also offered to show me Mr. Wickham’s debt receipts and has offered the testimony of more than Colonel Fitzwilliam. What did Mr. Wickham offer when he told his tales?”

  There was nothing Lydia could say in response, so Elizabeth answered her own question. “I will tell you, as Mr. Wickham also attempted to tell his tales to me. He did not offer any proof. He only flashed his charming smile and expected to be believed on that alone.”

  “I suppose,” said Lydia. She appeared to be thinking about what Elizabeth had said. Considering she had rarely, if ever, stopped to think, Elizabeth thought it must be a good sign.”

  “Lydia,” said she, drawing her sister’s attention back to her. “Do not be in such a rush to be married. What does it matter if you are the first?”