Page 27 of Chasing Shadows
“If he did not carry himself so proudly,” Mrs. Bennet sniffed, “perhaps they would not.”
“You do not know him, Mama,” Elizabeth replied quietly.
“I do not think the toy-seller quarrelled with Mr. Darcy at all,” Kitty interjected. “Had he done so, it must have been observed, for Mr. Darcy cannot stir in the town without being noticed. And besides, what business could he possibly have with a toy-seller?”
“None, I should think,” Jane said softly.
Mrs. Bennet pressed a hand to her bosom. “Shall we now live in fear for our very lives? Even at Christmastide, whenwe ought to be visiting our neighbours, must this murderer rob us of all enjoyment?”
“The toy-seller was so very kind,” Kitty said, scarcely heeding her mother’s lament, though she too spoke with a sort of wistful remembrance. “I liked the way he tried to persuade us to buy his toys when we were with Mr. Denny. Why should anyone wish to harm him?”
“A travelling tradesman?” Mary replied with a shake of the head. “Doubtless it was for his money. Such things are not uncommon upon the roads, particularly if he had been followed into the neighbourhood by highwaymen.” She delivered it with the air of information they all ought already to possess.
“They took his purse and his wares,” said Mr. Bennet.
“Heavens have mercy,” Lydia exclaimed. “He did not look like a man to trouble anyone. His voice was pleasing, too. I turned when he saidRamsgate—even before he walked up to us.”
Elizabeth’s head came up sharply. “What did you say?”
“Nothing, Lizzy.”
“No, Lydia—you said something just now.”
“I only said his voice was uncommon.Ramsgatewas the word he spoke, and when I heard it, I turned. After that, he smiled and came towards us,” Lydia replied with a shrug.
Elizabeth felt her breath catch. “Was he speaking it to you—or to another?”
“I do not know, Lizzy. Perhaps he said it to someone, perhaps he meant he was from there. I could not tell. If he spoke to another, I did not see the person, but he surely wasn’t speaking to me.”
Elizabeth grew thoughtful, her face troubled. Mr. Bennet noted it at once.
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“I am not certain, Papa. Only—Mr. Darcy once confided something to me about Ramsgate. I do not know if it is of consequence, but perhaps he ought to hear what Lydia has said.”
Mr. Bennet’s brows rose at this, for he had not known that Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy spoke together in confidence. Yet he held his peace, watching his daughter with a mixture of curiosity and concern.
“Oh, Lizzy, you will quite end my poor nerves!” Mrs. Bennet cried. “Tell Mr. Darcy what? Something Lydia overheard in passing, only to embroil her in these dreadful murders as well? I have already had one daughter nearly made a victim; I will not have another!”
“Mama, surely I must tell him,” Elizabeth insisted. “Mr. Darcy has shown nothing but respect to us, and he dropped everything to protect me when he thought me in danger. If this knowledge could help clear his name, or bring the killer to justice, it is worth reporting—for the safety of all Meryton.”
Mrs. Bennet drew breath to object, but Mr. Bennet raised a hand and she fell silent. “Lizzy is right. Surely, for her to think Mr. Darcy should hear of this matter, she must deem it of some consequence. She must tell him at once. I shall have the carriage brought round, and we will drive to Netherfield.”
Elizabeth looked at her father with quiet gratitude. He had not pressed her to reveal what Mr. Darcy had confided, nor forced her to betray his confidence, yet he had given her leave to act as her conscience directed.
As her father left the room, Elizabeth stared down at her hands, her sisters’ eyes upon her—encouraging, expectant. Mrs. Bennet’s gaze, however, was full of fear. Elizabeth herself did not know what weight lay in Lydia’s words, or whether there was anything at all. Yet if it might prove of use to Mr. Darcy, she resolved, there could be no harm in telling him.
Chapter Fifteen
Upon arriving at Netherfield, the mood within the estate was markedly subdued. Mr. Bingley himself received them at the door, his usual cheer tempered by evident unease.
“Mr. Bennet, Miss Elizabeth,” he said with a bow. “Pray, come in. You must forgive the gravity of our welcome—our household has been much discomposed since hearing the dreadful news.”
Elizabeth inclined her head. “You have heard of the poor man?”
“Yes,” Bingley answered, lowering his voice. “A servant returning from the village brought word of it at once. A robbery, they say.”
Behind him, Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst emerged from the drawing room, their manner more marked by curiosity and perhaps fear than compassion.
