Page 24 of Chasing Shadows
Elizabeth laughed lightly, though her heart leapt in spite of her. “You must stop. He apologised for his first slight at the Meryton assembly, even confessed he had noticed my eyes. And when you slept, he defended me when Miss Bingley tried to belittle me. That is civility, no more.”
“Civility does not look so much like admiration,” Jane murmured. “If you had seen how he watched you last night, you would admit it.”
“You will have me imagining things,” Elizabeth said, though her tone softened. She leaned closer. “You won’t believe—he almost sounded jealous when he asked of Mr. Reeds. He said he saw us dance at Mr. Collins’s wedding. You would think he believed we were courting.”
Jane’s brows rose. “And he was not far off. Did you not notice how Mr. Reeds looked at you this morning?”
Elizabeth frowned. “Pray forget it. I admire Mr. Reeds’ diligence—he is attentive to the sick and well spoken. But admiration is not affection. I shall marry for love, Jane, and I feel nothing for him beyond respect.”
Jane’s smile turned sly. “But for Mr. Darcy?”
Elizabeth's laugh escaped at once. "You are incorrigible, Jane. I would not dare answer that question."
Yet as she turned her gaze once more to the passing fields, her smile lingered, betraying more than her words revealed.
***
The afternoon light slanted through the tall windows of Netherfield’s library, falling in golden bars across the carpet. A decanter of Scotch sat on the low table between the cousins,their glasses half-filled. Fitzwilliam lounged easily in his chair, one boot stretched toward the hearth where the fire burned steadily, though more for comfort than necessity. His eyes, however, were sharp upon Darcy.
“What’s with you and Miss Elizabeth today,” he said, tone casual but edged with curiosity. “I saw you. And I saw the way you looked at her. You even followed the carriage simply to speak with her.”
Darcy swirled the liquor in his glass before answering. "I admire her, Richard. More than I expected, more than I intended, more than I had cared to admit to myself until now. If matters were different, I should have called at Longbourn—perhaps even..." He stopped, the admission hanging between them."
“Perhaps court her?” Fitzwilliam supplied, brows lifting. “Now that is a surprise. I had thought you too proud to entertain such an idea. And surely you know what our aunt would say of it.”
Darcy’s mouth tightened. “Lady Catherine may say what she pleases. She cannot govern my heart. She has long fancied I should marry her daughter, but I have no such intention—and, frankly, I do not believe Anne has either. My mother raised me better than to consider only rank or fortune. She taught me that in marriage, regard must matter more than connection.”
Fitzwilliam chuckled low. “Hear, hear. Still, it is not like you to speak so openly of such things. Miss Elizabeth must be something indeed.”
Darcy’s gaze grew distant, heavy again. “She is. And yet, I cannot pursue her—not now. Not with all this.” His hand tightened on the glass. “The killer still roams free. Mr. Doughty is the only name we can fix upon, yet his alibi holds fast. It makes no sense. Each time we draw near, the man proves untouchable.Tobias Hatch’s diary gave us nothing—only two lines: ‘Ether? Alibi?’ Words that found us nothing. And still the trail goes cold.”
Fitzwilliam leaned forward, resting his glass on his knee. “You sound bested, cousin.”
“It feels that way. As if the killer is always one step ahead, watching us struggle.”
“But,” Fitzwilliam said firmly, “do not mistake it for victory. Tobias Hatch’s death was his first mistake. He miscalculated, striking a man in broad daylight. That alone tells me he is not invincible. We may see nothing now, but when he moves again, the pattern will shift. What we thought useless may suddenly prove vital. All we need is patience, Darcy. His hand will show again.”
Darcy exhaled slowly, setting his glass aside. “Patience. That is a virtue I have little of just now.”
“I know.” Fitzwilliam’s tone softened. “But you must hold steady. For Georgiana’s sake. For your own. And perhaps,” he added with a faint smile, “for Miss Elizabeth’s as well.”
Darcy allowed himself the ghost of a smile, though his thoughts remained heavy. “For all our sakes, Richard, may it end soon.”
The cousins drank in silence then, the fire snapping low, each man waiting for a storm not yet come.
Chapter Thirteen
In the third week of December, just about nine days before Christmas, Mr. Thomas Dobson arrived in Meryton, having travelled from Bolton. He was a man of no remarkable height—perhaps five feet four—with legs somewhat bowed, hair sprinkled liberally with grey, and a countenance so unremarkable that he might pass twice in a crowd without notice.
Trade had been ill that year; indeed, he had nearly abandoned his circuit altogether when a chance acquaintance advised him that Hertfordshire and its surrounding villages might prove a profitable venture. The prospect cheered him. A travelling tradesman by necessity rather than choice, Mr. Dobson sold children’s toys. It was not, of late, the most lucrative of employments, for the great workshops of London produced them faster and cheaper than a solitary man might contrive. Yet with Christmastide approaching, country families were often more inclined to delight their young ones with trifles than those in town, whose gaieties turned rather upon fairs and splendid assemblies.
Thus persuaded, Mr. Dobson entered Meryton the previous evening, took a modest room at the inn, and in the morning made his way into the marketplace. There he displayed his wares to any who would pause long enough to look. Fortune seemed to smile; he sold a few articles readily and, his spirits improved. Just before noon, he resolved to refresh himself with a draught of ale.
He stepped into a public house and had scarcely approached the counter to make his request when his attention was arrested. A gentleman sat but a few paces off. Dobson started, his eyes narrowing as he looked more closely. The face was familiar—strangely so. He could not, for the life of him, recollect where he had seen it before; yet the conviction persisted that he had.
A familiar face, here, in Hertfordshire? It was the first such he had met since his arrival. After a moment’s hesitation, he resolved to draw nearer and discover whether his memory deceived him.
***
