Murder at Netherfield Read online

  While the younger girls giggled at the man’s ponderous manner of expressing himself and Mary looked on him with something akin to approval, Jane and Elizabeth exchanged a glance, and Elizabeth was certain they each understood what the other was thinking. Jane was, no doubt, thanking the Lord on high that Mr. Bingley was already showering his attentions on her. Elizabeth, on the other hand, was fervently wishing he would not turn to her.

  Mr. Bennet, on the other hand, was watching the spectacle, amusement shining from his very being. It was possible the prospect of Mr. Collins’s continued absurdity might be enough to draw him from his bookroom more than was his wont. No doubt, should the man choose to pursue Elizabeth, Mr. Bennet would only watch and laugh as she attempted to put him off. Luckily, Elizabeth was also certain her father would support her should she be required to refuse a proposal from their cousin.

  No one in the family had expected the Netherfield party to visit again before the ball the next week. Surely there must be many things to accomplish in the days before the event was scheduled to take place. But they were all surprised when the day after Mr. Collins’s arrival saw the two gentleman—for Mr. Darcy had accompanied Mr. Bingley—riding down Longbourn’s drive.

  They were welcomed with the same enthusiasm as ever, and they received it with their usual response. In other words, Mr. Bingley beamed at the welcome and immediately sat down at Jane’s side, while Mr. Darcy responded with his typical thanks, but remained more reserved. What none of them could have predicted was Mr. Collins’s response to the introduction to Mr. Darcy.

  “Can it be that I am in the august presence of Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Derbyshire?”

  Mr. Darcy’s surprise was clear. “You seem to have the advantage of me, sir.”

  “Indeed, I do,” said Mr. Collins, clearly taking Mr. Darcy’s response as an affirmation of his question. He was also quite quivering with excitement. “In fact, I am in possession of the living at Hunsford, which, as you must already be aware, is under the authority of Lady Catherine de Bourgh, who I suppose must be your aunt.”

  “Yes, she is,” replied Mr. Darcy.

  “What an incredible coincidence this is, Mr. Darcy!” cried Mr. Collins. “I could not have imagined that a visit to my cousin’s house would admit me to the unmitigated honor of obtaining your acquaintance! I should like to inform you that your lady aunt and her daughter were in the best of health only yesterday, for I saw them before I departed from Kent.”

  Mr. Collins sidled closer to Mr. Darcy, and in a voice more than usually obsequious, said: “As you can imagine, I am very attentive to her ladyship and grateful for her generously offered condescension. I could not depart from Kent before paying my respects to her and accepting those final few tidbits of wisdom which she did not stint in bestowing upon me.”

  It was with a remarkably straight face that Mr. Darcy replied: “I can imagine her words to you, sir. You are fortunate in your situation, it appears.”

  “Oh, yes, indeed I am! The most fortunate man in all England, I assure you. Not only am I in possession of that wondrous gift of Hunsford and her ladyship’s condescension, but I am also the heir to this estate. I feel my good fortune, exceedingly, I assure you.”

  No one missed the improper nature of Mr. Collins’s words, least of all Mr. Darcy. To speak of such things in mixed company was beyond the pale. But Mr. Darcy, showing himself to be a gentleman, ignored that which was ridiculous and replied with nothing more than a nod of his head. Mr. Collins accepted it as if it was commendation from the king himself.

  Elizabeth, finding herself nearby Mr. Darcy, looked at him with some amusement, wondering if he would deign to speak to her after such a spectacle. It seemed that day the more personable Mr. Darcy was in attendance, for he glanced at her, and showed her a slight smile, which for anyone else would have been a hearty laugh.

  “What a strange coincidence this is, Mr. Darcy,” said Elizabeth in a soft voice. “Who could have predicted that such a connection would exist here, of all places?”

  “I cannot account for it myself, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy.

  His gaze returned to Mr. Collins, and hers followed. His toadying to Mr. Darcy apparently a success in the parson’s mind, he had turned his attention to the rest of the company, and he was now watching Mr. Bingley and Jane closely. It seemed that what he saw did not please him, for a frown settled on his countenance. A moment later, however, he seemed to nod to himself, and his attention turned elsewhere.

  “It seems Mr. Collins has recognized Mr. Bingley’s interest in my sister,” said Elizabeth, not sure if she should be speaking of such a thing. She did not know what Mr. Darcy thought of the matter, after all.

  Mr. Darcy positively started, and his eyes quickly found them. “Do you have an . . . expectation of my friend, Miss Elizabeth?”

  “Expectation is a strong word, Mr. Darcy,” replied Elizabeth. She chose to answer his question honestly and without rancor, for she did not sense any disapproval in his manner. “It is clear to me that Jane enjoys his company. I will not say that she is in love with him, for it is too early for her to know, I think. But I believe she could be, with very little provocation.”

  “I had not seen that in her,” said Mr. Darcy, though he nodded slowly.

  “She is reticent, Mr. Darcy. Much like certain others I could name.”

  Mr. Darcy smiled and turned to her. “Touché, Miss Elizabeth. I suppose I must bow to your superior knowledge of your sister. As for Bingley himself, I cannot say what his feelings are. He has had a habit of paying attention to the newest pretty face in the past. But his fascination with her has already lasted longer than any of those.”

  “Only time will tell. But do not assume Jane will accept him for reasons of prudence, or that anyone else will have any say in her decision. If he ever comes to the point, she will respond according to the contents of her heart.”

  “I am glad to hear it,” replied Mr. Darcy. “I wish only for the best for my friend, you understand. He is his own man and may make his own decisions.”

  Satisfied with the result of her conversation with Mr. Darcy, Elizabeth turned her attention back to the rest of the gathering, only to see Mr. Collins’s eyes on her and Mr. Darcy. It was clear by the censorious glare he was bestowing on her that he was not amused, though she could not understand why he might be offended. Then something else caught his attention, and he turned away.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Bingley, but am I to understand you have invited my cousin’s family to a ball at your estate?”

  “Yes, I have,” replied Mr. Bingley, tearing his eyes away from Jane. “It is to be held Tuesday next, and we are much anticipating their attendance.”

  Mr. Bingley’s gaze returning to Jane’s face told anyone who was watching whose attendance would be most agreeable to him. Mr. Collins did not miss it either. His eyes darted to Elizabeth and then back to Mr. Bingley. It was no surprise then when he spoke again.

  “What a wonderful notion, Mr. Bingley. I assure you that I am not one of those members of the clergy who considers a ball anything other than an innocent diversion, especially when it is given by a man of good character. As I have heard your residence in the neighborhood is short, it is understandable you would wish to further your acquaintances by hosting them all in this manner. I hope, sir that you are to live here in the future, for I would count it a blessing to have such an affable neighbor as yourself.”

  Several of the company winced as Mr. Collins showed his lack of sense by again referring to the entail. Mr. Bennet was not one of them, for he only watched his heir and seemed to be clutching hold of his mirth by the tips of his fingers. Mrs. Bennet, by contrast, was watching the parson with something akin to terror.

  “You are, of course, invited to attend with the rest of the family,” said Mr. Bingley, eager to be finished with Mr. Collins’s civility and return to his conversation with Jane.

  “I do appreciate your generosity, sir,” re
plied Mr. Collins. Elizabeth saw a hint of a smirk curving his lips, which seemed to suggest he had obtained what he wished. “I thank you for it and accept your graciously offered invitation. I shall be happy to attend.”

  Then Mr. Collins turned and faced Elizabeth. “Please allow me, my dear cousin, to solicit your hand for the first sets of the evening.”

  No one was more surprised than Elizabeth by Mr. Collins’s application. But while she wished for anything other than to be the focus of this man’s lovemaking, there was no choice but to accept. The way Kitty and Lydia giggled at her predicament, Elizabeth thought some retribution might be in order, but they paid no heed whatsoever to her scowl of disapproval.

  “Excellent!” cried Mr. Collins when Elizabeth gave her disinterested consent. “I am sure we shall have a lovely evening. I am confident you are anticipating our dance as much as I am myself!”

  Elizabeth did not know how he could be so confident in the face of her tepid reply, but it appeared Mr. Collins was a man who saw whatever he wished. Mr. Darcy, by contrast, was well aware of her hesitation, and he shot her a sympathetic smile. He did not speak, however, and Elizabeth was grateful; she did not think she could speak to him with equanimity, given what was passing through her mind at present.

  “The Bennets possess an oddity of a relation, do they not?” said Bingley as he and Darcy rode away from Longbourn.

  “I do not know that ‘odd’ is precisely the term I would use, my friend,” replied Darcy. “But I have been privy to the kind of man with whom my aunt prefers to surround herself, and while Mr. Collins is perhaps eccentric and not a little extreme in his manners, he is no different from the rest of them.”

  Bingley laughed. “The droll way in which you portray your aunt is quite amusing, Darcy. Though I know she has no wish to sully herself with an acquaintance such as myself, I cannot help but hope that I someday become known to her.”

  “If I were you, Bingley, I would wish to postpone the pleasure indefinitely.”

  Again, Bingley let out a great guffaw. “Perhaps that would be best. I shall be guided by you, my friend.”

  They rode on, and while Darcy gave the appearance of giving his attention to his friend’s continuing conversation, in reality, he was thinking of the words he had exchanged with Miss Elizabeth. As they had sat in company, he had endeavored to watch Miss Bennet carefully, prove her sister’s assertions of her character. In the end, Darcy was forced to acknowledge that everything Miss Elizabeth had said to him about her was nothing less than the truth.

  Which realization altered Darcy’s intentions. He had seen, as had they all, Bingley’s increasing interest in Miss Bennet, and while Darcy had never been required to insert himself into Bingley’s business before, he had thought it might be necessary to do so this time. But he would not come in the way of Bingley’s happiness, especially if the woman was as drawn to Bingley as he was to her. In this case, Miss Bennet was clearly coming to esteem Bingley more as time went on, and with Miss Elizabeth’s assurances of her trustworthiness fortifying him, Darcy was content in allowing Bingley to come to his own conclusion.

  Why Darcy should trust Miss Elizabeth to that extent, he was not certain. She was a forthright woman, he decided, not in the habit of deception to obtain that which she desired, unlike some other women he could name. She had existed on the edges of his consciousness since he had come, his interest in her intellect, which he thought was prodigious, never extending beyond that, though he could readily confess she was a handsome woman. Somehow, she inspired trust; whether it was sensible or not, Darcy could not help but trust her.

  “I am very happy to have Miss Bennet’s hand for the first dance,” said Bingley, drawing Darcy’s mind back to his friend’s continuing speech. “For a moment there, I almost thought you would ask Miss Elizabeth for the first set. Then that strange cousin of hers managed it before you could.”

  “Why would I ask Miss Elizabeth for the first dance?” asked Darcy. “You know I rarely dance the first.”

  Bingley only gazed at him slyly. “Perhaps because it would assist you in avoiding my sister’s less than subtle appeals for the same? Besides, you have danced with her before. The only lady, other than my sisters, with whom you have danced since we came to Meryton, as I recall.”

  “That is true,” replied Darcy with an absence of thought. “But I only did that because you asked her sister to dance, and it would have been churlish to refuse to dance when you had already made yourself agreeable.”

  “I never thought anything different,” replied Bingley. “But you should consider the woman a little more, Darcy. You have always claimed that women who try to attract you with exaggerated deference annoy you. With Miss Elizabeth, you would ever need to fear for such behavior.”

  It was the truth, Darcy thought. Perhaps he would dance with her again. But he would not raise her expectations by asking her for the first or the supper. She was a fine woman—he was becoming more convinced of that by the moment. But she was not for him. His future lay with a woman of society.

  Chapter III

  The next day, the rain, which had been threatening and falling in intermittent spurts the previous day, began in earnest, restricting the family to the house. While Elizabeth did not dislike rain in general, except for the way it curtailed her activities out of doors, in this instance, she thought it would prove to be a bother. Having been awoken by the sound of the light tapping on the pane of her window that morning, Elizabeth rose and wrapped a blanket about her as she went to look out onto the landscape. Already the ground was soaked, and little puddles had begun to form, rendering the outside world dreary, and her spirits, depressed.

  With a sigh, Elizabeth stepped away from the window, annoyed that she would have no refuge from Mr. Collins other than the room she currently inhabited. She settled in her bed again, drawing the coverlet about her, considering her predicament with morose irritation. She had little doubt of Mr. Collins’s focus on her, and while she would have preferred to refuse the honor of his fatuous lovemaking, she was relieved she was the sister who would have the duty of denying his proposal. She knew that other than Lydia, none of them would possess the fortitude necessary to provoke their mother’s displeasure.

  As a young woman who was often awake with the sun, it was not in Elizabeth’s nature to return to sleep, and she was not disposed to lie in bed doing nothing. She indulged in a book for a short time, after which she found it necessary to arise from her bed. The grey day induced her to choose a dress which was much like her mood—a dull lilac gown she had often thought more fitting for half mourning than a normal morning dress. She then called the maid to attend her, and moments later was descending the stairs to break her fast. It was with surprise, then, that she was witness to Mr. Collins entering the house from the front door.

  He was wet and bedraggled, his wide-brimmed black hat dripping water and his overcoat divesting little rivulets which pooled on the floor under his feet. Elizabeth glanced at the water, annoyed at the extra work the man had just created for the maids. But her attention was drawn away from the mess and to the man’s person, as he regarded her as if suspecting she had appeared that way only for him.

  “Good morning, my dear cousin! I was not at all aware that you were prone to waking this early in the morning. I must count it among your many perfections and assume this is evidence that you are an industrious and useful sort of person. For as my great patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh has said: ‘To rise early is to be godly, Mr. Collins. Let not sloth tie you to your bed in the mornings, for much can be accomplished in the early hours.’”

  To Elizabeth, who had obtained an image of Lady Catherine as a pompous and stupid woman, Mr. Collins’s quote almost sounded something like sense. But as curious as she was, she was not at liberty to ignore his coming in out of the rain on such a day.

  “I believe I might agree with her ladyship’s position, Mr. Collins, for I have no liking of lying in bed in the mornings my
self. Does her ladyship’s wisdom also extend to advising you to walk in the morning in inclement conditions?”

  Mr. Collins laughed as if Elizabeth had just related some hilarious joke. “It seems to me you are quite witty, Cousin. An excellent trait, to be certain, though I am confident the respect for Lady Catherine’s rank will prompt silence when you finally meet her.”

  For the moment, Elizabeth ignored his reference to her ultimate meeting with his patroness. “That does not resolve my confusion, Mr. Collins. Should you not have chosen a more appropriate day for a constitutional?”

  “You have mistaken my purpose, Cousin. I did not walk the grounds of Longbourn, beautiful though they are. In fact, this morning I was engaged in walking to Meryton for the purpose of sending a letter to my patroness.”

  “But you only left Kent two days ago,” said Elizabeth.

  “That is true.” Mr. Collins assumed an expression of such mindless adoration that Elizabeth might have wondered if he was experiencing some sort of religious ecstasy. “Lady Catherine, her wisdom so boundless and without equal, expects daily reports of my activities here in Hertfordshire. With such boundless condescension as she pays me, such assistance and advice, how could I possibly stint in following her instructions to the letter?”

  “How, indeed?” echoed Elizabeth, feeling quite fatigued, though it was yet early in the day.

  “I see you see the situation in the same way as I,” said Mr. Collins, satisfaction seeping from his tone. “That bodes well for the future, indeed.”

  Then Mr. Collins turned and, whistling tunelessly, climbed the stairs toward his room. Suddenly bereft of an appetite, Elizabeth waited until she heard the sound of his door closing before making her way back to her room. Even boredom could not be worse than giving even a perceived hint of welcome to this man’s efforts at wooing.