Murder at Netherfield Read online

  Elizabeth did all she could to avoid Mr. Collins during the next days, though at times it proved nigh impossible. For one, Longbourn was not large, and whenever she left her chambers, Mr. Collins would be nearby with his peculiar brand of civility and cloying attentions. For another, her mother, seeing Mr. Collins’s intentions, had latched onto them as a means of saving the family from being destitute. So, while they all prepared for the ball, Elizabeth was treated to a constant litany of her mother’s commentary.

  “I think this cream dress will do for the ball,” said she on one occasion, rummaging through Elizabeth’s closet as if it was her own. “When Mr. Collins sees you in this, I am certain his eyes will pop out of their sockets.”

  While Elizabeth did not care if Mr. Collins should be rendered blind for the rest of his life, she did not wish it to be because of the sight of her. But she knew that to speak would be to provoke an argument with her mother, and she did not wish to do that until necessary.

  On other occasions Mrs. Bennet would direct Mr. Collins to sit by Elizabeth, or hint of her enthusiasm for the match. On one occasion, she even referred to it in a manner Elizabeth could only term as gauche, for she said, though speaking to herself softly: “If Mr. Bingley can be induced to propose to Jane, perhaps we may have a double wedding.”

  Something in Elizabeth’s countenance must have betrayed her distaste for the notion, for Mrs. Bennet directed a fierce glare at her second daughter. “I am aware that Mr. Collins is not what you would have chosen in a husband, Lizzy, but he is what is before you. I suggest you accept him with whatever grace you can muster.”

  The inference that Elizabeth would not be allowed to refuse him was not misunderstood, but again she declined to invite argument. Elizabeth was well aware that she possessed a much greater understanding of her father than her mother did. He would never force her to marry so objectionable a man.

  Thus it was that Elizabeth was relieved when the day of the ball finally arrived, and it was not only because she was anticipating the amusement. Her mother, eager as she always was to display her daughters to their best advantage, was distracted. Elizabeth had thus far avoided or ignored Mr. Collins—it was the combined efforts of them both that was fatiguing her.

  When she exited her room that evening and descended the stairs to join the family in the vestibule, she became aware that her mother was quite correct in her assertions regarding Mr. Collins’s reaction to her choice of finery. But while Elizabeth had seen appreciative glances aplenty during her time in society, there was something in Mr. Collins’s looks that she could not like. That he found her attractive was obvious. But there was a leering quality in his gaze which made her uncomfortable. It was as if he was undressing her with his eyes.

  Though it was difficult, Elizabeth put him from her mind. The family entered the carriage, though Mr. Bennet was forced to ride on the box with the driver, and soon they made their way to Netherfield. When they arrived, Elizabeth was eager to enter the house and lose herself in the crowd for the moment. As such, she made her way through the receiving line as quickly as she could, and entered the ballroom, looking for Charlotte.

  “How happy I am to see you, Charlotte!” exclaimed Elizabeth when she had found her friend. She could hear the note of hysteria in her own voice and knew her friend recognized it as well.

  “Eliza,” said Charlotte with a grin. “Can I assume your mother was especially trying today?”

  “She was, indeed. But I can handle my mother. It is the presence of Mr. Collins who has provoked my current despair.”

  “Mr. Collins?” asked Charlotte with interest. “I am not acquainted with a Mr. Collins.”

  “You should consider yourself fortunate,” muttered Elizabeth. “I apologize, Charlotte. I had forgotten he has only been in residence for three days. It has seemed more like three years.”

  “He is a houseguest at Longbourn?”

  “My father’s cousin and heir,” said Elizabeth. “He is also stupid and servile, of suspect hygiene, and he seems to think I am the perfect woman to live with him at his parsonage, with his meddling termagant of a patroness watching our every move.”

  Charlotte laughed at Elizabeth’s characterization. “He seems to be quite the specimen, Lizzy. I am anticipating making his acquaintance.”

  Unfortunately for Elizabeth’s state of mind, that moment came much sooner than she would have wished. Before long, the man had joined her as she stood with Charlotte, his mouth full of little nothings and silly compliments.

  Obliged, as she was, to dance the first with him, Elizabeth allowed herself to be led to the dance floor when the music floated over the company, expecting no pleasure in the ensuing half hour. She was not surprised, as such, when it turned out to be a disaster. Elizabeth did not know in what circumstances Mr. Collins had been raised, but his education on the dance floor was sadly lacking. He turned the wrong way, stepped on her toes more than once, and spent the entire dance apologizing for his ineptitude. When it was finally over, Elizabeth bolted from him, eager to be free of his odious company.

  Matters improved after that, for Mr. Collins was distracted by the need to pay attention to the other young women in attendance. Though many were her friends, Elizabeth was not at all sorry that they were required to endure his civilities. Should the pain of his presence not be shared among them all?

  For a time, Elizabeth lost herself in the pleasure of the evening. She had always been a popular partner at these events, and that evening was no different. Jane was enjoying herself with Mr. Bingley, and even Mary was seen to have stood up for more than a single dance. That one of those dances was with Mr. Collins, Elizabeth decided not to examine too closely. Even Kitty and Lydia, who had obviously dipped into the punch deeply and were behaving in a manner which was guaranteed to embarrass, could not diminish Elizabeth’s enjoyment of the evening.

  And so it continued until Elizabeth was once again approached by a man she might have expected to avoid the activity altogether. And when he bowed to her, his intentions were revealed.

  “Miss Elizabeth, if you are not already engaged, will you dance the next with me?”

  Feeling some asperity as to this man’s continued ability to defy her attempts to sketch his character, Elizabeth, on the impulse of the moment, responded with teasing. “I do not know if it is wise, Mr. Darcy.”

  The man regarded her, perplexity written on his brow. “I do not understand.”

  “Why,” said Elizabeth, “should we dance again, it would mark the second time we have danced since you arrived in the neighborhood. And as, by my count, you have danced with no other young lady not of your own party, those in attendance might consider us as good as engaged. You know what it is like in a small neighborhood such as this, do you not?”

  Belatedly Elizabeth wondered if the man might be offended by her words, but Mr. Darcy only grinned. “Surely you overstate the matter, Miss Elizabeth. It is nothing more than a dance, after all.”

  “I see you possess a great fortitude then. If you are willing to endure what must ensue, I shall accept. But do not say I did not warn you.”

  His grin became wider, and the thought struck Elizabeth that while she had always thought him handsome, it was when he smiled that the true devastation of his looks was unleashed. She allowed him to take her hand, however, and soon they were engaged in the steps of the dance.

  “I believe, Miss Elizabeth,” said he a few moments later, “that you have a gift for hyperbole and a tendency to express positions contrary to your own.”

  Elizabeth laughed. “That is ungenerous, sir. Do you believe that nothing of truth passes my lips?”

  “Indeed, not,” replied Mr. Darcy. “You have a light disposition and a talent for putting others at ease. I have rarely seen your like in all my years in society.”

  Strangely flattered, Elizabeth turned away, grateful the dance had taken them apart, allowing her to regain her composure. When they met again several steps
later, she thought she was better able to meet him with composure.

  “I thank you for the compliment, sir, though I will own that I wonder at your making it.”

  “I do not flatter needlessly, Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Never would I have suspected you of it, sir,” replied Elizabeth drily. Mr. Darcy seemed to understand, for he allowed a slight smile. “Rather, I believe that many would find my manners impertinent and not at all suitable for the higher echelons of the ton. Surely what you call a talent for putting others at ease, others would refer to as an unserious disposition. Such as Miss Bingley, for example.”

  “You will find, Miss Elizabeth,” replied Mr. Darcy, his tone as dry as Elizabeth’s had been before, “that my opinions rarely align with hers. If you will pardon my saying it, Miss Bingley does not know high society nearly so well as she believes. She has little experience there, and though I do not say it to aggrandize myself, her entrance therein is entirely because of her brother’s friendship with me, and her place is tenuous, at best.”

  “I am not surprised to hear it, sir,” replied Elizabeth. “Nevertheless, I thank you.”

  Mr. Darcy nodded, and they continued to dance, though silence had fallen between them. But it was not an awkward silence, one of those with each partner uncertain of what to say to the other. Rather, it was akin to that which ensues when all which must be said has been.

  Toward the end of their dance, however, Elizabeth witnessed a strange change in Mr. Darcy’s demeanor. Mr. Darcy was, though not precisely genial, at least good-humored as they continued to dance. But suddenly, as they made a pass by each other, he stumbled slightly before continuing the form, and when he was standing across from her, his gaze was fixed on a point across the room. Perhaps the strangest thing was his countenance, which had been pleasant, was now overset with a coldness the likes of which Elizabeth had never before seen.

  “Is everything well, Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth as she turned her head, attempting to catch sight of whatever had disturbed him.

  Mr. Darcy started, but he quickly recovered. “Yes, Miss Elizabeth. Everything is quite well.”

  Though Elizabeth gazed at him, doubtful of his assertion, she knew not to press the matter. The set ended only a few minutes later, and Mr. Darcy, taking her hand, led her to the side of the room. There he left her with a hurried bow and a murmured apology. Elizabeth could not understand what had happened to induce such a sudden change in him.

  There was nothing for it, however, so she continued to enjoy the evening as much as she was able amid her swirling thoughts. Her next partner came and collected her, and for a time she was lost again in the movements and conversations in which she was engaged.

  Later, toward the supper hour, Elizabeth was approached by one of the officers, a Lieutenant Denny by name. Though the man was a great favorite of Lydia and Kitty, Elizabeth did not know him well, only having exchanged a few words with him. By his side stood another man of the militia, his insignia showing him to be of equal rank. But this man was unknown to her.

  “Miss Bennet,” said the lieutenant, flashing her a grin. “My friend here has requested an introduction to you if you will allow it.”

  “Of course, Mr. Denny,” said Elizabeth, looking to his companion with interest. He was tall, slender, dark of hair and eye, and was, outside of Mr. Darcy, possibly the handsomest man she had ever seen.

  “Mr. George Wickham, my friend, lately of London. Wickham, please allow me to introduce Miss Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn.”

  “Have you been with the regiment long, Mr. Wickham?” asked Elizabeth. “I do not believe I have seen you at any other gathering.”

  “I have only been here for a few days, Miss Bennet,” replied Mr. Wickham. Even his manner was gentlemanly and his voice melodious. “This is the first event of society in which I have partaken. It is fortunate that Mr. Bingley issued a general invitation to the officers, else I should not have had the opportunity to attend this evening.”

  “That is fortunate, indeed,” replied Elizabeth. “But even had he not, I am sure Mr. Bingley would not have protested your presence. He is a man fond of company, and a note asking for your inclusion would have been successful, no doubt.”

  “I have every confidence in Mr. Bingley’s congeniality,” replied Mr. Wickham. “But I do not like to beg for my inclusion in such things. It makes one seem grasping. Do you not agree?”

  “I suppose it could be construed in such a way, though I doubt one would believe it of you. But welcome anyway. I hope you have enjoyed your time in Meryton, however brief it has been.”

  “Everything has been lovely, and the people most obliging. I have made several acquaintances already, including your sisters, I believe. I am quite charmed by everything I have experienced.”

  They talked for several more moments about nothing in particular. Mr. Wickham, Elizabeth discovered, possessed the ability to speak of any subject and make it seem like the most interesting thing in the world. Mr. Denny, though he stood with them for a short time, soon bowed and left, looking for other amusement. Mr. Wickham then asked Elizabeth to dance, and though her next set was spoken for, she was pleased to offer the one after. When her next partner came to collect her, she spent the entire dance anticipating the next with Mr. Wickham, and as such, found it difficult to focus.

  It was only a few moments into her dance with Mr. Wickham when he leaned toward her during a pass in the steps and spoke in a low voice: “It seems we have drawn an audience to us, Miss Bennet.”

  Elizabeth followed his gesture with her eyes, and she caught sight of Mr. Darcy. It was clear that he was, indeed, watching them and, furthermore, if the scowl he directed at them was any indication, he was not pleased with what he saw. It was another facet to add to the already difficult Mr. Darcy. She could not understand him; why would he care who she chose to accept an offer to dance? Or was he displeased that she was dancing with Mr. Wickham?

  “Ah, Darcy,” said Mr. Wickham, his tone carrying hints of sad amusement. “I see he is putting his best foot forward, as he usually does in most neighborhoods he visits.” Mr. Wickham was obviously attempting to put a humorous note in what he was saying, though the sarcasm was clear for Elizabeth to hear. “Unfortunately, I have never known him to behave any other way.”

  “You know Mr. Darcy?” asked Elizabeth.

  “All of my life, in fact. You could not search for someone who has more knowledge of the Darcy family than I.”

  “That is interesting, sir. When I caught sight of him just now, it seemed to me he was displeased about something.”

  “When is Darcy not displeased? Sometimes I think it is his purpose to go through life being discontented about everything. He is not at all popular in town, you know, for the majority of those in society consider him to be unapproachable and proud.”

  Elizabeth digested Mr. Wickham’s words with a sense of astonishment, tempered by the fact that she had just made his acquaintance and knew nothing of his character. Surely she had been confused about Mr. Darcy, and she had seen some of Mr. Wickham’s assertions in her own study of the man. But he was not always thus.

  “I see I have confounded you, Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Wickham, drawing her attention back to him. “In fact, I am sure you are aware, at least a little, of Darcy’s position in society. His connections are such that few will risk his displeasure openly. But trust me when I say that he is not well liked at all in town.”

  With a shake of her head, Elizabeth glared at her dance partner. “I do not know why you are telling me this, Mr. Wickham. What is it to me if Mr. Darcy is praised or reviled in society?”

  A mournful expression came over Mr. Wickham’s face. “I do apologize, Miss Bennet. I have done it again, it seems. I try to tell myself over and over that I should not speak of Darcy when I have nothing good to say of him. But my outrage overcomes my determination, and I cannot stay silent. Had his offenses been confined to poor behavior in society, I might have be
en able to ignore them. But the wounds between us are simply too deep.”

  In spite of herself, Elizabeth was interested. But she would not ask, for she knew it was not proper. It seemed, however, that Mr. Wickham had little compunction in sharing his woe, for he allowed only the time in which they separated due to the dance steps before he once again spoke.

  “You see, Miss Bennet, I was to have received a valuable living from the Darcy family by the express wish of his father. But while Darcy knew of it—had been informed by his father—he chose to withhold it from me. Thus, I am as you see me now—forced to make my way in the world, when my future should have been secure.”

  Elizabeth gasped. “But had you no hope of satisfaction in the law?”

  “The elder Mr. Darcy trusted his son, Miss Bennet,” was Mr. Wickham’s somber reply. “As such, the matter was only referred to obliquely in his will. A man who had not heard of it from his father’s lips or chose to misinterpret what was written therein might do so without anything to deter him.”

  “But surely an appeal to him would bear fruit. I am sorry, Mr. Wickham, but while I am nothing more than a minor acquaintance to Mr. Darcy, I have always thought him strict in his adherence to duty. If his father wished you to have the living, I cannot suppose Mr. Darcy would not know. And if he knew of it, I would think him honor bound to act in accordance to his father’s instructions.”

  “Dear Miss Bennet,” said Mr. Wickham, “it seems you know little of the world of great men. Those such as Darcy are accustomed to having whatever they want. Darcy is only bound by duty when he feels it is worth his while to be so bound. I am nothing to him—merely an annoyance with whom he would prefer to dispense. Furthermore, Darcy is well aware of which of us his father preferred. All these things motivate him to push me as far from his life as possible.”

  Elizabeth was skeptical. Though she had never had the highest opinion of Mr. Darcy, she had never thought him malicious. Mr. Wickham’s words painted the picture of a corrupt character, indeed. Furthermore, there was the question of why he was saying this to her now. It was hardly a subject to be canvassed less than an hour after making one’s acquaintance!