Page 9 of Chasing Shadows
“She is at home,” Elizabeth replied, noting the eagerness in his face. “Jane is not one for long walks unless necessary.”
“Excellent,” he said, brightening at once. “Then she may be surprised when we arrive.”
Kitty, her eyes wide, leaned forward at once. “Mr. Bingley, have you heard? They say the parish constable’s body was found but a short while ago.”
“Yes,” Lydia added in a hushed tone uncharacteristic of her usual gaiety. “The market is full of it. Every soul iswhispering and afraid. It must be dreadful indeed. Do you think the same killer did it?”
Bingley’s expression sobered, though he strove to reassure them. “I heard the news about one hour ago myself. You need not be alarmed, though. Every measure is already in hand. Darcy and I were on our way to Longbourn to speak to your father about it.”
The sisters pressed closer, eager for further assurances, their voices lowered, their usual mirth subdued. Elizabeth, falling back a pace, found herself beside Mr. Darcy.
For several moments, he did not look at her. His eyes were fixed straight ahead, his hand firm upon the reins. Yet she saw the small signs—a faint tightening at his jaw, a measured breath—that betrayed the effort beneath his composure.
At last, he spoke in a tone pitched for her alone. “Miss Bennet, I must thank you. Your fairness just now did not escape me. It is not a thing I take lightly.”
Elizabeth met his glance, startled by the quiet intensity in his voice. “I spoke only what I knew to be just. It is cruel that your name should be so easily stained.”
He inclined his head slightly. “Cruel, perhaps—but not unexpected. People fear what they don’t understand.”
They walked in silence a few paces more, Kitty still pressing Bingley with anxious questions. Lydia fretted whether it was safe to hold another assembly at all. Mary walked a little apart, her lips moving as though composing a moral reflection on the subject.
Elizabeth, her curiosity overcoming reserve, asked softly, “Do you think this murder is connected to the former?”
Darcy’s expression darkened. “I do not know. My cousin has gone to consult with the magistrate. But the man would not have me attend.”
She frowned. “Would not?”
“He said plainly that he did not trust me,” Darcy replied with a half-bitter smile. “And I cannot gainsay him. I have gathered more enemies than friends in Meryton.”
Elizabeth’s voice gentled. “Not so. You have friends still. There are those who see you for what you are, and believe you better than you think.”
His eyes met hers fully then, gratitude plain though not spoken. “You are generous, Miss Bennet. I thank you again.”
The path to Longbourn lengthened, but the company was lively. Bingley’s steps quickened as the house came in sight, his eagerness thinly veiled. Darcy’s bearing grew still more composed, though Elizabeth saw how carefully he braced himself for what awaited.
Mrs. Bennet received them with fluttering civility, her eyes darting between Jane and Mr. Bingley. She curtsied effusively to him, but gave Darcy only the barest bow of acknowledgement. He accepted it with dignity and passed into the parlour to speak with Mr. Bennet, his reserve a shield against her coolness.
Elizabeth watched the scene unfold with mixed feelings. Jane and Bingley glowed in one another’s presence, Mrs. Bennet could scarcely contain her delight, and yet Darcy stood somewhat apart, his tall frame slightly bent toward Mr. Bennet’s chair as they spoke in low tones.
The hour passed in easy talk for some, stiff formality for others. At length, the gentlemen rose to depart. Bingley looked back at Jane with a smile that almost held promise; Darcy, grave but courteous, bowed low, his eyes meeting Elizabeth’s a fraction longer.
When the gentlemen had departed, the household soon broke into fresh discussion of the dreadful news of Mr. Hatch’s murder. It appeared that word had already reached Longbourn earlier in the day, so that the family had been acquaintedwith the particulars even before the girls and their companions returned from the market. Mrs. Bennet bewailed the danger of having such violence so near, Lydia and Kitty speculated in eager whispers as to the culprit’s potential identity.
Elizabeth, however, lingered at the window. She watched the dust rise and scatter from the departing horses, her thoughts lingering not upon the clamour of the household but upon Mr. Darcy’s words—upon the quiet earnestness with which he had spoken, and the softened timbre of his voice when he thanked her.
***
Darcy had not yet removed his coat when Colonel Fitzwilliam returned to Netherfield. The clock had scarcely struck the hour of four, but the house was settled into a quiet. Darcy was in the library, standing by the window, his thoughts still caught between the tumult of the marketplace and the measured words of Mr. Bennet.
The door opened briskly.
“You are returned earlier than expected,” Fitzwilliam said, setting aside his gloves. “I heard from the servants that you and Bingley just came back from town.”
Darcy inclined his head, a faint smile curving his mouth though it did not reach his eyes. “Yes. It was better to go out and be seen before society brands me a murderer yet again.” He lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug, his tone dry. “It was no surprise to hear them saying I had killed the parish constable before I even reached the market. If Miss Elizabeth Bennet had not spoken up, I wonder how far the tale would have been pressed by now.”
Fitzwilliam’s brows rose. “Miss Elizabeth? She was in the market?”
“She was,” Darcy answered evenly. “We were on our way to Longbourn to inform Mr. Bennet of the event, as I had promised to keep him apprised, when we came upon Miss. Elizabeth and her sisters.” His voice softened a shade, though he masked it quickly. “Her fairness was timely.”
