Murder at Netherfield Read online

  A frown settled over Jane’s pretty face. “Surely you do not think our mother would push me more than I am comfortable.”

  “While I consider our mother capable of almost any behavior which would result in any of us marrying sooner rather than later, I do not speak of her.” At Jane’s uncomprehending expression, Elizabeth sighed, wishing her sister was not quite so eager to ascribe the best motives to all and sundry. “Jane, surely you must see that Mr. Bingley’s sisters—and perhaps his friend—do not favor his attentiveness to you.”

  “I have seen no such thing,” replied Jane, a defensive note entering her voice. “Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley have been very kind to me.”

  “Yes, Jane, they have been.” Elizabeth sighed. She did not like opening her gentle sister’s eyes to the sins of others, but it was necessary that Jane was aware of the obstacles which Elizabeth was certain would threaten her happiness. “I know they are your friends and that you esteem them. It is to your credit that you feel that way. But I would not have my sister unaware of the other side of their characters which they do not show to you.”

  “Of what are you accusing them?” asked Jane, appearing as if she wished to conclude this discussion as soon as may be.

  “I do not know the specifics of what they think, Jane. But I can tell you that they have no good opinion of Meryton or anyone in it. They are not friends of their brother’s interest in you, for I have often seen them when they think no one is watching. I am not asking you to throw them off as friends, Jane, nor do I ask you to confront them. All I ask is that you remain watchful and that you do not allow them to deceive you.”

  “You think they will persuade their brother against me.”

  Elizabeth gave her sister an affectionate smile and patted her hand. “If you show Mr. Bingley your true feelings and leave him in no doubt, I do not think his sisters will have anything they can do to prevent him from following his heart. I cannot say if they will attempt anything dishonest, but a true knowledge of your feelings should negate it if they do.”

  Jane seemed to think on this for a few moments before she nodded her head slowly. “I can do that, Lizzy. I will still consider them my friends, but I will watch for anything which suggests they are not truthful with me.”

  “That is all I can ask.”

  Had Elizabeth been privy to a conversation which was happening at that moment between the subjects of her conversation with Jane, she would have been positively smug. Having seen their brother’s interest in Miss Jane Bennet, the Bingley sisters gathered together late that evening, intent on discussing the situation between themselves, without husbands or brothers overhearing.

  “What do you think of this one?” asked Caroline, directing an expectant look on her sister.

  Louisa only sighed and shook her head. “It is impossible to tell. Some of his past interests I might have said he pursued with more fervor than he does Miss Bennet. But there seems to be a . . . depth of feeling present when he speaks with Miss Bennet that I don’t recall with any of the others.”

  “It is possible,” said Caroline, thinking on the matter and wondering how she could pull her brother away from his latest interest. “If Charles would only fix on a suitable woman, we would not need to take such steps. But he seems to have a knack for finding the poorest ladies of the most wretched situations. I know not how he accomplishes it.”

  “Oh, come, Caroline. They have not all been that bad.”

  “It seems like they have,” snapped Caroline.

  In her frustration, she went to the sideboard where a bottle of her brother’s fine brandy sat with several glasses. She unstopped the decanter and poured herself three fingers worth before placing it back on the tray. Then she sighed at the scent of the heavenly liquid which lay within and took an experimental sip. It was her one guilty pleasure. Most ladies chose something more proper, such as wine or sherry, but Caroline preferred the feelings engendered by brandy, and she often indulged.

  “Oh, Caroline,” said Louisa with a sigh. “I truly wish you would not drink so much of that harsh beverage Charles prefers. It is not ladylike, you know.”

  Caroline glared at her sister, even as she took another deliberate sip of the heady liquid. “I am every inch the lady in everything I do. Mr. Darcy will not care if I have a sip or three of his brandy every so often.”

  Though she shook her head, Louisa did not comment any further. The discussion had played out many times before, and Louisa had learned not to push the matter, lest she provoke an argument. Caroline did not know why men kept this wonderful drink to themselves, and she would not allow it in her home.

  “Let us see,” said Caroline, holding up the fingers of her free hand as she counted Charles’s improper loves. “There was Miss Standish, the parson’s daughter; then Miss Jones, the tradesman’s sister; after that it was Miss Derry, the woman whose father was stricken with poverty, followed by Miss Taylor, whose situation was much the same as Miss Bennet’s. And do not forget Miss Strickland—no one could forget the woman who claimed five thousand pounds was a substantial dowry. There were more, but I cannot remember them all.”

  “I do not know what you mean to accomplish by naming them,” said Louisa.

  “I simply wish to remind us both from what we are saving our brother,” replied Caroline. “They were each, in their own way, unsuitable, and we did well to persuade Charles against them.”

  “You are misstating the matter, Caroline,” said Louisa, her tone admonishing. “Charles eventually lost interest in each—it was nothing we did to dissuade him.”

  “I am certain we played a part,” replied Caroline with an airy wave. She sipped at her drink again, relishing the burn as the liquid flowed down her throat. “It was our protests which set his disinterest in motion.”

  Louisa again shook her head. “You may believe what you like, Caroline. But, eventually, one of these ladies who has turned Charles’s head will keep his interest. And there will be nothing either of us can do about it.”

  “There must be!” cried Caroline. She lifted the glass and drank the rest, pouring herself another portion without thinking. “If only we could redirect him to a woman of good fortune and connections in London. But though he is his usual self among them, he never becomes enamored with one. It is as if he is determined to disappoint us.”

  “I doubt he has anything other than his own happiness in mind.”

  “Louisa,” said Caroline, her annoyance with her sister climbing to intolerable levels, “can I count on your support when the time comes?”

  Louisa grimaced, but she did not hesitate. “I no more wish Charles to marry Miss Bennet than you do, Caroline. I am only pragmatic when considering our chances of influencing him.”

  “Good,” said Caroline, choosing to ignore the second part of her sister’s response. “For now, I think it is sufficient to watch and wait. When the time comes, we may need to strike quickly.”

  “Agreed,” said Louisa. “We will do what we can, as we have always done.”

  With those words, Louisa excused herself to return to her rooms, leaving Caroline alone with her thoughts. It should not be too difficult, she mused. If everything else failed, perhaps Miss Bennet could be proven to be improper in some way, lessening her allure in Charles’s eyes. It would not be the first time Caroline had acted against a woman to whom she thought Charles was becoming too close. It would likely not be the last.

  Either way, now was not the time to consider the matter any further. Caroline stood, a little unsteadily, and made her way to her room. Perhaps everything would be clearer after a good night’s sleep.

  Chapter II

  While Jane’s budding romance with Mr. Bingley seemed to be proceeding apace, Elizabeth was able to gain no more clarity regarding Mr. Darcy than she had before. He was at the same time aloof, yet kind, and proper—though not friendly—when he was induced to speak. He was intelligent but not personable. He was confident in society, but reticent
when speaking. He was the most maddening subject she had ever studied!

  At times, Elizabeth thought him on the verge of censuring them all. At others, he seemed amused by what he saw. It was a surprise to Elizabeth that the presence of Lydia and Kitty were equally likely to provoke either response in him when she might have expected he would consider them ill-bred and wild. Elizabeth herself felt that way about her sisters.

  They continued in this manner through October and halfway through November when an event occurred which prompted much rejoicing at Longbourn. Though there had been talk, primarily from Mr. Bingley, of a ball to be held at Netherfield, the sisters always appeared as if they would much rather be drawn and quartered than host the cream of Meryton society. It seemed, however, that Mr. Bingley finally prevailed. But no one—not even his sisters—could misunderstand the gesture he made by delivering the invitation in person. Nor could they deny what happened next.

  “Excellent!” cried Mr. Bingley when Mrs. Bennet gave her assurance, in a voice as giddy as those of her younger daughters, that they would be happy to attend. Then he turned to Jane. “If I may, I should like to take this opportunity to solicit your hand, Miss Bennet, for the first sets.”

  While Jane blushed with pleasure, Elizabeth watched the superior sisters and was not reassured by what she saw. They wore matching pinched expressions which would have curdled milk. If Elizabeth was to guess, she thought they had suspected their brother’s intentions and had felt powerless to stop them.

  When they departed, Elizabeth was left with her sister and was privy to all Jane’s pleasure and her hopes and fears for the future. She provided a willing ear for Jane to vent all her thoughts and was not disappointed by what she heard.

  The days before the ball at Netherfield would not have been remarkable had it not been for the coming of a most unexpected visitor. The invitation for the ball had been delivered on Thursday, which sent the Bennet ladies—particularly the mother, in the company of her youngest—into a frenzy of preparations. Therefore, when the rumble of a gig on Longbourn’s drive announced a new arrival, it went quite unnoticed by her mother. Elizabeth, who had been sitting near the window, looked out and, seeing the approach of the vehicle, frowned and decided to approach her father when she saw a tall man alighting from it.

  “A visitor, you say,” said Mr. Bennet, apparently as perplexed as Elizabeth was herself. “I was not expecting anyone.”

  “The gig has already stopped in front of the entrance, Papa,” replied Elizabeth. “The man was dressed in clerical garb, from what I could see.”

  That piece of information seemed to bring no greater clarity to Mr. Bennet. But he rose and motioned Elizabeth from the room, regardless.

  “I suppose we should see what he wants.”

  When they exited the house, they met the man who was at that moment approaching the door. Behind him, the gig which had delivered him was already making its way back up the drive and toward the village. The man directed a smile at them and bowed so low, it almost seemed he considered her father to be a duke.

  “Mr. Bennet,” said the man, “I am exceedingly happy to be in your presence, sir, for I have wished these many months to look upon the face of my closest relation.”

  It seemed that declaration induced recognition in Elizabeth’s father, for he regarded the other man with some interest. Elizabeth could only stare at the man. He was tall, but heavyset, a distinct paunch decorating his midsection. His hair, what she could see of it under the wide-brimmed black hat he wore, was dark as night, though with a faint shine common to hair which had not been washed in some time. He was not precisely homely, though Elizabeth thought him rather plain. But he was also not appealing in any physical sense.

  “I am sorry, sir,” replied Mr. Bennet, “but I do not believe we are acquainted. Might I know your identity?”

  “I would have thought my words would have spoken to my identity,” replied the man. “Be that as it may, I have no objection to stating it. I am William Collins, a name which must be known to you, I suspect, for I am to be your heir.”

  Comprehension flooded Elizabeth’s mind. Though her parents had rarely spoken of the man—other than Mrs. Bennet’s lamentations concerning the entail—she had known his name and had heard from her father that he was studying at a seminary to be a clergyman. It seemed he had attained that rank, given the dress he now wore.

  “Your name is known to me,” replied Mr. Bennet. “But I cannot account for your presence, sir.”

  “Is it not understandable that I would wish to view the estate over which I am to be master?” asked Mr. Collins. “Of course, I wish it. And in the words of my great patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, familiarity with the lands which will soon be mine cannot be obtained quickly enough. I must have intimate knowledge of it since I shall someday be responsible for it.”

  “How sensible for you to have thought of it,” replied Mr. Bennet. Though Mr. Collins preened at her father’s words, Elizabeth could hear the mocking quality in his voice, which told her he thought Mr. Collins anything but sensible. “What I am asking you, sir, is why you are here now? I have received no letter from you and have issued no invitation. I cannot even be certain of your identity.”

  “That is no impediment,” said Mr. Collins, waving Mr. Bennet’s protest away as if it were nothing more than smoke on the wind. “I am a clergyman, sir, and as I inhabit that exalted sphere, I believe I understand the rules of conduct for one in my position. As for my identity, surely, as you knew my late honored father, you must see some resemblance to him in my countenance.”

  “I suppose that is correct,” was Mr. Bennet’s grudging reply.

  “Then no impediment exists.” Elizabeth thought Mr. Collins’s tone was rather smug.

  Mr. Bennet regarded Mr. Collins for several moments, seemingly considering the matter. Elizabeth, who knew her father, suspected he saw the potential for amusement in Mr. Collins’s visit. Therefore, he did not send the man away as she had hoped and invited him in.

  “Since you are here now, there is no help for it. As we have had no word of your coming, I hope you will excuse us if the guest room has not been readied.”

  “I assure you, Mr. Bennet, that I am able to adapt quite quickly. As long as the bed is made and is clean, I shall be comfortable.”

  They led the man inside, Elizabeth noting with interest that he had not spoken any words to her. He did, however, comment on the vestibule as they passed through, seeming satisfied with its size, layout, and many other details Elizabeth herself would not have considered. He commented that the doors were perfectly serviceable and would not have looked out of place in his parsonage and that the floors were polished nicely.

  “None of this matches the home of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, of course,” said he as they approached the sitting-room. “Rosings Park is, you must understand, one of the great estates, and perfectly situated on a bit of rising land, surveying all about it like an angel on a cliff. I am sure there is not its equal in all of Kent if not all of southern England!”

  Mr. Collins, apparently, saw himself as possessing the soul of a poet. Elizabeth was already coming to the conclusion the man was nothing more than ridiculous. Mr. Bennet seemed to feel the same way, as he grinned at Elizabeth and lifted an eyebrow when he noticed her watching. Elizabeth shook her head—after only a few moments in his company, she could already see how trying the ensuing days would be. And he had not yet mentioned how long he intended to stay!

  Upon entering the sitting-room, Mrs. Bennet finally seemed to realize they had a visitor, for she looked up and frowned at the man. Mary and Jane had returned to the sitting-room in the interim—they had both been absent when the carriage arrived—so the whole family was present. Mr. Bennet, seeing he had all his daughters in attendance, lost no time in making the introductions.

  “Mrs. Bennet,” said he. “As you can see, we have been blessed with a visitor.” Then a thought seemed to cross Mr. B
ennet’s mind, and he turned to Mr. Collins. “I do not believe you have mentioned how long you intend to stay, sir.”

  “Let us see what comes of my visit,” replied Mr. Collins, a fatuous grin adorning his countenance.

  It was the height of rudeness, not only to invite oneself but to voice one’s intention to stay for an indefinite period. But Mr. Bennet seemed to see there was no reason to trade words with such a dull specimen, for he only nodded.

  “Mrs. Bennet, this is Mr. Collins, who, as you know, is my heir. Mr. Collins, my wife, Margaret Bennet, and my daughters, Jane, Elizabeth, Mary, Catherine, and Lydia.”

  “Madam, Miss Bennets,” said Mr. Collins, giving them the same low bow he had shown to Mr. Bennet previously. “I am vastly pleased to be here. I thank you with all my heart for your unstinting welcome and your willingness to allow me entrance into your home. I hope, in time, we shall become true relations and intimates.”

  It seemed to Elizabeth that her mother was on the verge of one of her infamous nervous attacks, for the sight of the future master of Longbourn must bring to her mind the image of the hedgerows as her future place of residence. But though she had never had the opportunity to welcome him into her home, she seemed to latch onto the last bit of his statement even more quickly than Elizabeth had.

  “You wish to become better acquainted with us?”

  “But of course, Mrs. Bennet,” was Mr. Collins’s lofty reply. “It is Christian to forgive the grievances of the past and look toward the future. Furthermore, it is the particular wish of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who, in her boundless generosity, charged me with this reconciliation. ‘You must initiate it, Mr. Collins,’ said she, ‘for it is your duty due to your profession. And if, when you meet your cousins, you find that an olive branch may be extended, why you should seize the opportunity. Your cousin and his progeny might be lower gentry, but they are gentlefolk. A man in your position cannot expect too much.’”